


Seeing Red, Singing Blue

by ellipsometry



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: (just a bit so tagging in case), ACTOR MODEL SINGER HE'S A TRIPLE THREAT FOLKS, AVAILABLE FOR WEDDINGS AND BAR MITZVAHS, Actor Oikawa Tooru, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Bodyguard Daichi, Homophobia, M/M, Oikawa Stan Shenanigans, Slow Burn, famous/non-famous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-09-16 14:02:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 32,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9275072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellipsometry/pseuds/ellipsometry
Summary: As a bodyguard, Daichi makes no attempt to handle Oikawa. He serves more as a guide, making roads for the actor through throngs of fans, silencing anyone who ventures to bother Oikawa with only a stare, skirting effortlessly around the edges of Oikawa’s life. Far enough to be almost forgotten, close enough to be comforting.Daichi is the perfect bodyguard.  Oikawa hates it.Oikawa Tooru is a heartthrob and model/movie star in need of a new personal bodyguard.  Sawamura Daichi is up to the job.





	1. what's in the water?

**Author's Note:**

> i am...... so weak for this trope

“Are you finished yet, or what?”

The answer is, of course, no.  Oikawa Tooru is not and never will be _finished_ , not when it comes to most things, and least of all when it comes to pestering his long-suffering best friend Iwaizumi Hajime.

“I’m in _crisis_ here, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa says accusatorily, “And you’re pleased to sit idly by while your very closest friend in the world is being thrown to the metaphorical wolves.”

Iwaizumi would call Oikawa melodramatic, but that’s kind of beside the point.  For Oikawa – nationally-beloved heartthrob, model, and movie star – being melodramatic is quite literally in his job description.

The crisis at hand: Oikawa’s long-time bodyguard is retiring.  Oikawa’s rise in popularity over the past few years has left him in need of a high degree of close protection, even with how respectful his fans are in general.  And given Oikawa’s schedule and personality, it’s only a certain caliber of bodyguard that can actually keep up with him.  He does have some security guards in an already-established detail – “Don’t fucking call it a ‘detail,’” Iwaizumi says, “You’re not the damn Prime Minister.” – and those guys are good.  But Oikawa will still need a new outside hire to serve as his full-time personal bodyguard.

It’s become an oddly hot topic in the media and among his die-hard fans.  Oikawa isn’t really equipped to deal with it, “Iwa-chan, be my new bodyguard!”

“Not even under penalty of death.”

“Harsh!!”

Even though they tend to be respectful of his personal space, it would still be an understatement to say that Oikawa’s fans are, well, _dedicated_.  Those closest to him – his family, friends, Iwaizumi – invariably become persons of interest for Oikawa’s following.  (Iwaizumi had originally been so startled to find out he had a cult following online that he hadn’t spoken to Oikawa for nearly a month.)

With that in mind, Oikawa takes the selection of his new bodyguard a bit more seriously that he probably needs to, “At least help me look through resumes!”

“Just pick the buffest guy.”

“But Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, faux-serious, “You already turned me down.”

The comment earns Oikawa a headlock and an intense bout of hair-ruffling from Iwaizumi.  When the two of them finally separate, both of them laughing, Oikawa drags out the dossier of resumes and headshots his personal assistant had delivered for him earlier that morning.

Together Oikawa and Iwaizumi sift through the applications, tossing out the bodyguards that are too young, too old, too ugly, too good-looking.  (“I don’t want my good looks upstaged by my own bodyguard,” Oikawa says defensively.)

When they’ve narrowed the field to two applicants, Oikawa gives Iwaizumi the final say.  He always does so, if he has a hard decision to make.  (“It’s so I can blame you if something goes wrong!”  This is a lie.  It’s because he trusts Iwaizumi more than anyone else in the world.)

“This guy,” Iwaizumi says, after a long silence.

He’s pointing to the headshot of a man with close-cropped black hair and dark brown eyes.  The man is young, actually the same age as Oikawa, but he boasts some impressive experience, including close protection for the wildly popular idol Shimizu Kiyoko.

The other applicant remaining is probably the more logical choice: older, more well-rounded, definitely more intimidating in appearance.  Oikawa cocks his head to the side and examines the picture that Iwaizumi had pointed to – his soon-to-be new bodyguard.  The man is good-looking, but in a plain kind of way.  Like he’s the kind of guy you’d take home to your parents.  His eyes are warm and kind, even in the photograph.

Oikawa pulls out his phone and makes a call to his manager, “Well, then.  Time to welcome him to the team.”

 

+

 

In a cold, cramped, one-bedroom apartment on the outskirts of Tokyo, Sawamura Daichi considers the possible health ramifications of drinking an entire pot of black coffee.

Daichi is _nervous_.  The most nervous he’s been in recent memory, and, to be honest, it doesn’t really suit him.  Last night had brought him no sleep, only nightmares about his alarm clock breaking or his car not starting.  Daichi doesn’t even own a car, but the engine condition of this hypothetical car is giving him heart palpitations.

In the end, Daichi just makes a mug of instant coffee and boards the train with no issue.  Today is the day he begins his new position as Oikawa Tooru’s personal bodyguard.  

‘Intimidating’ is usually the word that comes to mind when people reference Oikawa.  He’s been acting for many years, but become a household name in the past few years.  Daichi has never followed his film career very closely, but back in Miyagi, Oikawa is a hometown hero.

It’s funny.  Daichi remembers when Oikawa was just a middle school volleyball prodigy.

Embarrassingly enough, part of the reason why Daichi had even applied for the job of Oikawa’s bodyguard was because he remembered him from middle school.  They had never interacted, their teams had never even played each other, and Oikawa had gone on to be homeschooled throughout high school, leaving volleyball behind to focus on his budding acting and modeling careers.  A lot of fans and critics compliment Oikawa’s acting as ‘unforgettable,’ but to Daichi, the most unforgettable thing about Oikawa is his eyes when he was on the court.  Calculating, focused, unforgiving.

Maybe that’s why Daichi is nervous.  Because he feels like some weirdo who can’t let go of what probably amounted to a middle school crush.

“This way Sawamura-san,” Oikawa’s personal assistant meets Daichi at the train station, greeting him warmly and ushering him into a black sedan.

“My name is Kindaichi, by the way,” the PA says, shaking Daichi’s hand.  He looks quite young, but Daichi doesn’t doubt his professionalism if he’s able to keep up with someone with a schedule as hectic as Oikawa’s surely is, “I feel, uh, I feel duty-bound to warn you that Oikawa-san is not in the best of moods this morning.”

Daichi snorts, “Well it is 8 o’clock in the morning.  And cold as all hell, so, I wouldn’t blame him.”

Kindaichi smiles, but in a way that seems to say _don’t say I didn’t warn you._

 

Daichi and Kindaichi enter a massive office building, take the elevator to one of the top floors, and enter what appears to be a massive studio loft.  Somehow, it’s even colder in the room than it is outside.  There’s a backdrop set up for a photoshoot in the corner of the room, near the floor-to-ceiling windows, and a shivering camera crew is adjusting the lighting.  On the other side of the room is Oikawa is arguing with an older man with graying hair.

Although maybe ‘arguing’ isn’t the right word.  For his part, Oikawa looks completely calm and composed, but the venom in his eyes is palpable.  He’s saying something, but Daichi only catches the end of his sentence: “—it now.  But I can always call Irihata-san and make a deal with him instead, can’t I?”

As part of the act, Oikawa whips out his phone and starts dialing a number, and the older man relents immediately, making Oikawa a whole slew of promises.  He’s bowing and speaking so quickly that Daichi can hardly make out what he’s saying.

Daichi whistles lowly, “He’s something, isn’t he?”

“You could… definitely say that.”

For the most part Oikawa looks the same as he did in middle school.  The trademark swoop of his chocolate brown hair is ever-present, and his eyes still stand out, the most prominent feature of his face by far.  But he’s certainly grown into a tall, sturdy figure.  Broad shoulders thin to a slim waist, and the baby fat is gone from his face, leaving a cut jawline and high, defined cheekbones that give Oikawa an effortless air of elegance.

“What’re you staring at?”

Daichi had been too busy examining the way Oikawa clenches his jaw when he’s annoyed that at first, he doesn’t acknowledge his question.

Kindaichi clears his throat, “This is your new personal bodyguard, Sawamura Daichi.”

Daichi just nods, bringing his eyes up to meet Oikawa’s.  The other man appraises him with narrowed eyes, “... You look familiar.”

“So do you,” Daichi blurts out.

This earns him a surprised bark of a laugh from Oikawa, who leans back in his chair.  A pair of hair and makeup artists re-start their work on his hair, which looks flawless to Daichi, but apparently that’s not good enough.

“So, you’ve seen my work.  What’s your favorite movie?”

“Um.  I like _The Iron Wall_.”

Oikawa pouts, “That’s an old one.  Plus, I’m the villain in that one, so boo.  What’s your second-favorite?”

Daichi stutters, opens his mouth, and then closes it, because _The Iron Wall_ is actually the only one of Oikawa’s movies he’s seen all the way through.  It’s a good film, to be sure, and Oikawa makes for a devastating villain.  But for whatever reason Daichi has always avoided Oikawa’s movies.  It felt strange to him, somehow, to watch someone he had seen as a kid up on the big screen.  It was too surreal.  (And besides, it wasn’t like Daichi had the money to constantly be going to the movies.)

Oikawa is as discerning as ever, “You’ve never seen any of my other movies!” he says, with an affected gasp, “You’re fired.”

“Wha— what?”

Kindaichi leans over to say, “He’s kidding,” at the same moment that Oikawa says, “I’m kidding, obviously!”

“You’ll be fired at least four more times before the day is over,” Oikawa’s makeup artist says, “Kindaichi has the record, though.”

“Not funny, Kunimi!”

Kindaichi sighs, looking over for support from Daichi, who just says, “Well, what’s the record?”

“Forty-nine times in one day,” Oikawa says, raising a single, slender finger in the air, smiling like his high-maintenance is some kind of accomplishment, “Though, to be fair to Yuutarou-kun, it was a _long_ day.”

There’s a lilt in Oikawa’s voice that reminds Daichi of something an old supervisor had told him: _You can’t protect someone who doesn’t want to be protected._  It was advice given to him when Daichi was first getting into close protection, maybe a year or two after high school.  He had it in his head that every bit of harm that came upon his protectee was preventable, but that simply wasn’t true.  Sometimes people went rogue, they had their own agendas, they had their own incurable faults.

Seeing Oikawa up-close-and-personal after all these years, seeing the way he juts his chin out ever-so-slightly when he speaks, Daichi confirms something he’s always had a hunch about: Oikawa Tooru is definitely missing a crucial bit of self-preservation instinct.

“Forty-nine, huh?” Daichi laughs softly, watching as a set assistant brings over a tray of fruit for Oikawa, displaying it to him as one would a gift to a king.  Oikawa reaches for an apple, but Daichi beats him to it, snatching it up and taking a large bite, ignoring the way the actor’s eyes narrow at him.

“I think I can beat that.”

 

+

 

Over the years, Oikawa has had a number of people tried to “handle” him – his manager, his PR firm, film directors, fellow actors.  The mistake that each of them make is assuming that they know better than him, that they know what he's thinking better than he does.  And that, of course, is never the case.

As a bodyguard, Daichi makes no attempt to handle Oikawa. He serves more as a guide, making roads for the actor through throngs of fans, silencing anyone who ventures to bother Oikawa with only a stare, skirting effortlessly around the edges of Oikawa’s life. Far enough to be almost forgotten, close enough to be comforting.

Daichi is the perfect bodyguard.  Oikawa hates it.

“Aren’t you going to get mad at me?” This Oikawa asks after he goes rogue during a product launch after-party, sneaking away from Daichi and ending up in a greasy diner, picking at a questionable-looking burger and a plate of soggy fries.

“No use in it,” Daichi says.  When he finds Oikawa, he just calmly sits across from him, snatching a few of his fries, “I knew where you were for the most part.”

“You can’t always know where I am,” Oikawa says, petulantly.  Something in the knowing smile Daichi gives him makes Oikawa think that maybe Daichi really _does_ always know where he is.  He seems to have mastered the art of masking his presence, able to pinpoint where Oikawa is at all times, from any distance.  Even in dark nightclubs or blindingly-bright red carpets.  He always finds him.

So, Oikawa takes to, for lack of a better word, testing Daichi.  He slinks away during filming breaks, when he’s out shopping, during promotional parties and nightclub launches.  He’ll hide away in the seediest, most remote places he can think of.  And still, Daichi always finds him.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” Oikawa teases.  This time he’s escaped from a perfume commercial shoot, taking refuge in a maid cafe that has clearly seen better days.

“Your sense of humor is impeccable as always, Oikawa,” Daichi says, beckoning over a waitress and ordering two coffees.  Just the other day Oikawa had been questioning Daichi about his dating history -- _You look like one of those guys that hangs out in maid cafes all day, am I right Sawa-chan?_

“I think I got you pretty good this time, hm?”

“Not particularly,” there it is again – that small, knowing smile that Oikawa has come to know so well.  It infuriates him, the way that Daichi always acts like he knows something that Oikawa doesn’t.

“I’ve been here for around twenty minutes, Sawa-chan,” Oikawa says, “You’ve been keeping me waiting!”

“You’ve been here ten minutes, maybe,” Daichi gestures to a convenience store across the street, “I was over there, watching the whole time.”

Oikawa grins, but his face goes red, “Creep!  Didn’t know you had a talent for stalking, Sawa-chan!”

“Luckily you pay me for it,” their coffees have arrived, and Daichi takes a sip, looking over the rim of his mug at Oikawa.

“Lucky for you,” Oikawa says, softly now.  He quickly busies himself with dumping at least three creamers and four packets of sugar into his coffee.  Daichi, who has on occasion mocked Oikawa for his consistent sugary desecration of all coffee, is conspicuously silent.  They’re quiet for a while longer, enough that they can hear the only two other patrons whispering, wondering _is that really Oikawa Tooru_ and _should we go ask for a picture?_

Finally, Daichi says, “Look.  I’m not here to boss you around, I think you’ve figured out that’s not how I do things.  I’m just here to make sure you’re safe.  It’d be good for us both if you make that easier for me.”

Oikawa’s old bodyguard had been with him since he was a teenager, and treated him more like a kid than anything else.  The rest of his detail was the same – holdovers from when he had first gotten discovered at the age of seventeen.  They cared for him, but to them he was still a smart-mouthed kid with a mean streak.  In a way, they weren’t wrong.

So, Daichi is… a notable departure.  He’s twenty-something, but with the responsible aura of someone twice his age and the indefatigable energy of someone half his age.  A monster, basically.  But the word ‘monster’ has been used to describe Oikawa many, many times.

“Fine,” Oikawa announces, punctuating his thought with a long sip of coffee.

“Good,” Daichi smiles, wider this time.

And then, leveling Oikawa with a serious look, “Besides, if I ever need to get you to stay put, you know that I can.”

Oikawa gulps, face red from more than just the hot coffee.

 

“He’s a menace, Iwa-chan.  A _menace_.”

Promises to behave himself aside, Oikawa still has a lot of complaining to do with regards to one Sawamura Daichi.  Across town, back at home in his cramped apartment, Daichi sneezes while Oikawa holes up in his own apartment to lament with Iwaizumi over pizza and beer.

“Sounds like he can actually handle you,” Iwaizumi says through a mouthful of pepperoni, “I like him.”

“You’ve never even met him!” Oikawa groans, “And chew with your mouth closed for once, god.”

Iwaizumi just rolls his eyes, “My mistake, I forgot to bring my manners for this luxurious meal.”

“You’re forgiven!”  At this, Iwaizumi chucks a can of beer at Oikawa, who only barely dodges it as it goes whizzing past his head, “One of these days you’re really going to kill me, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi hums, “Having to listen to you every day kills me slowly, so.”

“Rude!  You love me!”

“Whatever,” Iwaizumi doesn’t dispute that fact, “So what’s really so bad about the new guy?  Or are you just being a brat?”

Oikawa considers this, chewing thoughtfully, “He’s… he looks all wholesome on the outside.  I want him to drop the act.”

“Maybe it’s not an act.  Not everyone has ulterior motives.”

“I think he’s craftier than he lets on.  He has to have an agenda, everyone does,” Oikawa clears his throat, “Well except for you Iwa-chan, you’re not smart enough for that!”

Another beer is chucked in Oikawa’s direction, “Eat shit and die.”

“Later, later,” Oikawa smiles, waving his hands dismissively at Iwaizumi, “I’ll pencil that in for after my big audition.”

Oikawa is scheduled to audition for the leading role in a new film, _The Last Kingdom_ , which has a massive budget and is expected to be a blockbuster hit.  Just the fact that Oikawa has managed to make it to the final round of auditions is a huge press opportunity for him, one that will bring him to the attention of even more filmmakers and casting directors.  But that, of course, isn’t enough for Oikawa.  He may be the dark horse in the crop of actors being considered for the role, but he still wants to win.  He wants to be the last man standing.

Iwaizumi had once told Oikawa that he would never be satisfied.  No matter how many great roles he got and awards he won, he’d still be looking for more.  Oikawa is learning every day just how right his best friend was.

“Nervous?”

In the car on the way to the final audition Daichi nudges Oikawa’s foot with his own, giving the actor his familiar, steady smile.

For a second, Oikawa is thrown by the small, intimate gesture, “I— No.  I’m not.”

“For real?” Daichi laughs, “I’d be shitting myself if I were you.  But I guess that’s why I’m not the famous actor here.”

“I used to get nervous,” Oikawa tilts his head and looks over at Daichi, smiling softly, “But then I realized it’s pointless.  I know what I need to do and I know what could go wrong.  So why think more about it than I have to?”

“I think I read that in an article about you,” Daichi says suddenly, “You do, like, a focus meditation before auditions.”

This surprises a laugh out of Oikawa, “Are you reading up on me, Sawa-chan?” he pokes Daichi’s side with a slender finger, “I’m flattered.”

To Oikawa’s delight, Daichi turns a flattering shade of pink, “I wasn’t— I felt guilty that I’d never actually seen your movies, so I looked you up.  I just watched _Blossom_ the other day, you were… well.  You were actually really incredible in it.

“I don’t know,” Daichi continues, when Oikawa doesn’t say anything, “You’ve just got— your eyes.  They’re very expressive, and unique,” then, in a softer voice, “I’ve always thought so.”

It’s not like Oikawa is any stranger to compliments, least of all when it comes to his talent for acting.  But hearing it from Daichi, someone whom Oikawa is pretty sure is careful and deliberate with his praise, is pretty gratifying.  Not to mention the wide grin that Daichi gives him is so unfiltered and genuine that it makes Oikawa’s breath catch in his throat.

“Everyone only likes _Blossom_ because of that one sex scene,” is what Oikawa says, though, “I should have known you were just interested in my hot, nubile body, Sawa-chan.”

Daichi just shrugs, unbothered.  So, Oikawa follows that up with a small, “But thank you.”

“I don’t think you have anything to worry about,” Daichi says, as they pull up outside the office building where the casting director is waiting to evaluate the finalists, “You’ll do well.”

Daichi climbs out of the car first, holding the door open for Oikawa, who steps out onto the curb and says, “I’m not worried.”

“I know,” Daichi closes the door, “Like I said, nothing to worry about.”  Then, the absolute gall of him, Daichi winks at Oikawa, before heading on towards the building, clearing a path through the small group of fans that have gathered outside.

It takes a few moments for Oikawa to will his body to start moving.  At least one paparazzi gets a shot of the dumbstruck look on his face.

 

+

 

 **“you are my blossom”** @tooruupdates  
New pictures of Oikawa’s new personal bodyguard Sawamura with him at a recent photo shoot [IMAGE]

 **temi irl** @oikqwqs  
Is it just me or like… is Oikawas new bodyguard really handsome… ?

♡ **ミカ** ♡ @bluesky299  
@oikqwqs I SAID THAT OMG!!! he’s cute and young too

 **temi irl** @oikqwqs  
@bluesky299 im about to stan

 **“you are my blossom”** @tooruupdates  
@oikqwqs @bluesky299 Honestly, same. I want to see more of him!

 **mic** **∠** **(** **ᐛ** **」∠** **)** **＿** @micccrantz  
@tooruupdates @oikqwqs @bluesky299 I'm shipping it on aesthetics alone someone join me

 **temi irl** @oikqwqs  
@michellerantz *RAISES MY HAND SO FAST I DISLOCATE MY ARM*

 

 **Tooru** ☆ @oikawatooru  
No one tell my personal trainer I'm having milk bread for dinner (๑＞ڡ＜)☆

♡ **ミカ** ♡ @bluesky299  
@oikawatooru Who brought you milk bread Oikawa-kun? maybe Sawamura-kun ~?

 **Tooru** ☆ @oikawatooru  
@bluesky299 Sawa-chan would never he's so strict!!

♡ **ミカ** ♡ @bluesky299  
@oikawatooru OH MY GOD

 **temi irl** @oikqwqs  
@oikawatooru SAWA-CHAN

 **“you are my blossom”** @tooruupdates  
@oikawatooru SAWA-CHAN

 **mic** **∠** **(** **ᐛ** **」∠** **)** **＿** @michellerantz  
@oikawatooru SAWA-CHAN

♡ **ミカ** ♡ @bluesky299  
@oikawatooru SAWA-CHAN

 

+

 

Oikawa regrets it the minute he introduces Daichi to Iwaizumi.

Oikawa’s latest movie is called _Dark Horse_.  It’s a film from a well-known indie director, with a relatively small cast about an ordinary salaryman who exposes a huge embezzlement scam at his company.  They’re filming near the high school where Iwaizumi works, so Oikawa, Daichi, and Iwaizumi grab lunch together at an equidistant cafe.  Daichi’s imposing presence is keeping Oikawa’s various fans at bay, but he would almost rather deal with some over-enthusiastic fangirls than continue to listen to Daichi and Iwaizumi bond.

What Oikawa had expected was for the two of them to bond over the thing that they shared in common: him.  Sure, that would probably include some mocking and teasing, but that was pretty par for the course.

Instead, Daichi and Iwaizumi discover that they have myriad things in common.  From the moment Daichi compliment’s Iwaizumi’s Godzilla phone case, it’s all over for Oikawa.  He’s the third wheel on this friendship date, sipping his strawberry lemonade with a pronounced pout.

“Alright, alright,” Oikawa spreads his hands out on the table, “Since we’ve established that you both love having muscles and saving kittens from trees on your days off, let’s change the subject, shall we?”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, saying, “That’s code for ‘let’s talk about me now,’” at the same time that Daichi says, “Alright, Oikawa, let’s talk about you.”  They break for a round of raucous laughter.  Oikawa is less than amused.

“Okay, for real,” Iwaizumi is wiping tears from his eyes, “I am interested in this new movie, tell me about the part.”

Oikawa’s eyes light up in the way Daichi has only seen happen when he talks about his craft, “Well, okay, I’m not the main character, but I’m playing the _best_ character, of course—”

One of the screenwriters had let Daichi take a look at the script, and Oikawa isn’t necessarily wrong.  He’s playing a lawyer who leaks information to the main character, and then gets assassinated near the end of the movie.  They had filmed the death scene earlier in the week, and the way Oikawa looked, wearing a crisp white shirt soaked in red, fake blood spilling from his lips, was completely captivating.

Some have called Oikawa a character actor, and his talent for eccentricity certainly makes him a strong one.  On set, though, Oikawa is less like an eccentric outsider and more like the glue that holds the entire cast together.  He flirts with the hair and makeup staff, brings coffee with extra espresso shots for the camera operators, and goes over the scripts with the writers and scene directors with an intense focus.  Many of his suggestions are taken very seriously, and Daichi is sure that Oikawa’s mark could probably be seen in the final cuts of many of his past movies.

“Well, Takeda-san said he was very impressed with my work so far.  Hopefully he’ll keep me in mind for a big role in his next film,” Oikawa looks excited, almost bashful, at the thought.

“You deserve a leading role,” Iwaizumi says firmly, crossing his arms.

“Well, I did try for this one, actually, but I didn’t get it.”

“Oh,” Daichi says, “That’s good.”

“... Excuse me?” Oikawa gapes at Daichi.  Iwaizumi only raises an eyebrow.

“I just mean, there’s no way you could have done that role,” Daichi says, ignoring the way his words only seem to make Oikawa’s face grow angrier, “The point of the main character is that he’s plain.  Like, aggressively plain, so much that no one ever pays attention to him.  There’s no way that would be believable if you played him.”

“I’m-- I mean you’re not _wrong_ ,” Oikawa huffs, leaning back in his chair, “But I’m very talented, you know.  I want to challenge myself with different kinds of roles.”

Daichi smiles, “Well, I’m sure you’d be able to pull off the acting part, it’s just…” he trails off, suddenly catching Iwaizumi’s eye.  Iwaizumi’s eyebrows look ready to fly right off his face.

“Just what?” Oikawa eyes dart between them, “Secrets don’t make friends!”

“I think what Sawamura is trying to say,” Iwaizumi says, not taking his eyes off Daichi, “Is that you’re very… good-looking.  So, it’s not believable that no one would pay attention to you.”  Daichi shrugs his acquiescence, looking anywhere but at Oikawa.

“Huh,” Oikawa taps his fingers on the table a few times, like he’s drumming in anticipation of a big reveal.  But all he says is, “Of course you’re right.  I can’t believe I didn’t think of that!”  Daichi exhales a sigh of relief, attempting to ignore the small smile Iwaizumi gives him.

They pay for the meal – Oikawa attempts to charge it to the set budget but Iwaizumi insists on paying – and Iwaizumi gives Daichi his personal cell number and a hearty clap on the back.

Daichi escorts Oikawa back to the set, though to any passerby who didn’t know who Oikawa Tooru was, they might just look like two friends walking together, laughing and chatting shit.  That might be the best part about having a young bodyguard, Oikawa thinks.  It’s just less conspicuous to have someone next to him that’s his age, rather than a burly middle-aged man.

(And it’s more fun.  But he doesn’t plan on telling Daichi that.)

“You know,” Daichi says when they’re almost back to the set, “It’s not just your, uh, _looks_ that make it hard for people to ignore you.  I hope you know.”

Oikawa stops walking.  When he doesn’t say anything, Daichi presses on, “I mean to say, even if you actually were a plain, boring-looking guy just going about his business, I find it hard to believe anyone could ignore you.”

“Uh huh…” is all Oikawa says, wetting his lips.  His mouth suddenly feels quite dry.

“Sorry to be weird!” Daichi laughs under his breath, “I just— I figure you have a lot of shallow people around you all the time.  I didn’t want you to think I’m like that.”

“... Thank you,” Oikawa says, voice serious, “I’d never think you were like that, though.  Just saying.”

Daichi shrugs, knocking Oikawa’s shoulder with his own, “Just making sure.”

Together they continue on back towards the set.  Oikawa pulls at the sleeve of his jacket.  It’s Saint Laurent, men’s SS16 collection.  To his right, Daichi is wearing a plain black zip-up over a plain white t-shirt.

Maybe the differences between the two of them are more conspicuous than Oikawa thought.  For the first time, he begins to resent the notion.

 

+

 

About a year out of high school and into college, Sawamura Daichi surprised his friends, family, and even himself by dropping out and taking a job at a restaurant in Tokyo.  By day he would wash dishes and bus tables for the tame lunchtime crowds; by night he would become a pseudo-bouncer, escorting out patrons who had had a few too many drinks.  At the time, Daichi hadn’t even been old enough to drink.

It was maybe a few weeks after his twentieth birthday when was he was approached by Ukai Keishin, who offered him a job with his close protection firm.  Ukai was also from Miyagi but had relocated to the big city, where he was putting together a detail for Shimizu Kiyoko, an up-and-coming idol with a particularly rabid fanbase.

“Why me?” Daichi had asked.

“You’ve got the instinct,” Ukai said confidently, “The protection instinct.”

Daichi was familiar with the concept.  His friends in high school had often called him the ‘dad’ of their group, always keeping track of everyone, silencing arguments with a single glare, keeping his kouhai in line.  But Daichi sometimes worried that if they thought of him like that, they never really saw him as a peer, or a friend.

“I don’t mean that you’re overbearing,” Ukai continued, “I’ve seen you at work.  You know how to leave well enough alone.  That’s the more important part in our line of work.”

Daichi thinks about this a lot over his month or so with Oikawa.  Just existing around Oikawa is a constant flow of push and pull, give and take.  For all of his outgoing talkativeness, there are times when Oikawa just needs to be alone, and Daichi learns to anticipate this, shuffling the actor into his private trailer and direction all the other staff and actors away.  Maybe equally important, Daichi learns when Oikawa just needs someone to be there.  It’s not infrequent for Oikawa, at the end of the day, to just rest his forehead on the broad plane of Daichi’s back, both of them just standing there in comfortable silence.

It becomes easy to deal with Oikawa’s cheekiness, his anger, his mood swings, his melodrama.   More than that, Daichi starts to enjoy it.  He likes the constant energy; the way Oikawa can talk for hours about black holes or supernovas or constellations; the way he goes silent before filming a scene, leaning his head back in quiet meditation.  Daichi catalogues all of Oikawa quirks and oddities, and tells himself it’s all for the sake of the job.

And it’s only for the sake of professionalism that Daichi resists calling Ukai up and saying _Hey, I think I’ve really got the hang of this._

Maybe this is why, when confronted with a crying Oikawa Tooru for the first time, Daichi isn’t quite sure how to react.

“I’m fine, by the way, thanks for asking,” Oikawa says, frantically wiping his face with the back of his hand.  He’s on the floor of the foyer of his apartment, halfway through putting his boots on, and although his hair and outfit are immaculate as always, Oikawa’s eyes are rimmed in red, and Daichi can still see the dried tracks of tears on the boy’s face.

Daichi hasn’t moved since he entered the apartment and froze in the doorway.  He doesn’t say anything, just drops to his knees, making a movement to take Oikawa’s boots off.

“What the fuck—” Oikawa goes to pull his boot back on but Daichi swats his hand away, pulling the shoe off, and then the other one.  Wordlessly, Daichi takes his own shoes off as well, laying them next to Oikawa’s by the door.  He stands up, shrugs his jacket off, places it on the coat rack in the corner, and then reaches a hand out to help Oikawa stand up.  Oikawa regards the hand like a dagger that’s just been pointed at him, blade first.

Finally, Daichi says, “I know Kindaichi called me over because you wanted to go to that club opening.  But we’re definitely not doing that.”

“Tch,” Oikawa slaps Daichi’s hand away, standing up and starting toward the living room, “Just go home if you don’t want to work.  I’m not paying you to lecture me.”

“You know I’m not going to leave you like this.”

“Like _this_?” Oikawa snaps, “You think I’ve never cried before in my life, _Sawa-chan_?  I know how to get the fuck over myself.”  Daichi frowns, eyes focusing on the slow, deliberate way Oikawa is moving through the apartment.  He’s almost tip-toeing, as if he’s seeking to take up as little space as possible, even in the space of his own creation.

It’s his first time in Oikawa’s apartment, and the rooms are just as spacious and modern as Daichi expected.  The furniture is almost all white; even in the kitchen, the cabinets are a sleek, crisp white, the countertops a smoky gray marble.  At first, the space seems a bit cold, un-lived in, as it were.  But then Daichi starts seeing the small touches that can only be Oikawa: the framed _I WANT TO BELIEVE_ poster in the living room, the stickers and magnets and postcards littering the refrigerator, a coffee table book entitled _Secret History: Conspiracies from Ancient Aliens to the New World._   In spite of the tension, Daichi feels a new surge of fondness for Oikawa.

When he had gotten a call from Kindaichi, Daichi knew something was wrong.  This was supposed to be a rest weekend for Oikawa, with filming for _Dark Horse_ having just wrapped and the promotion tour coming up next week.  But apparently Oikawa was insisting on attending a club opening in Shinjuku, and Daichi was on call for protection.

“Can’t a guy have a little fun on a Saturday night, Sawa-chan?” Oikawa’s poured himself a glass of water and is already halfway to his bedroom, the high ceilings making his voice echo through the apartment, “God, if you could see your face!  Always so serious, aren’t you?”

The frown has not yet left Daichi’s face, and he’s not sure when it will.  For now, he just follows Oikawa, propping himself up against the doorframe of the master bedroom, arms crossed.  Oikawa is coming in and out of his walk-in closet to change, then to his bathroom, then back to the closet, ranting all the while.

“I mean, it’s not like I’m _paying_ you to help me live a normal life, or anything, instead of being a shut-in and just stay in all night like a loser.  Well, that’s mean of me, since you were probably on planning on staying in tonight – sorry to call you a loser, Sawa-chan!” Oikawa shucks on an old sweatshirt, dark blue, and Daichi realizes with a start that it says _Kitagawa Daiichi_ on the front: Oikawa’s old middle school.  It’s a bit small on him now, leaving a sliver of his lower stomach visible between the sweatshirt’s hem and the waist of his pants.

With a grand flourish, Oikawa spins on the ball of his foot and flops down face-first on his (frankly giant) bed.  He’s muttering something, a question maybe, but Daichi is so laser-focused on the smooth, pale skin of Oikawa’s lower back that he doesn’t hear him.

“... Huh?”

“God, you really are worthless,” Oikawa says, propping himself up on his elbow, laying on his side, “You _still_ aren’t going to ask what’s wrong?”

“I don’t want to pry.”

“Such a saint,” Oikawa mumbles, “Well if you’re going to insist on staying, at least make yourself useful.” He then makes a kind of grabbing motion with his hand, before patting the space on the bed next to him.  When Daichi’s face goes a bit red and he makes a noise of protest, Oikawa rolls his eyes, “ _God_ , Daichi, I just want to cuddle, keep it in your pants.”

Daichi clears his throat and climbs onto the (fucking huge) bed.  He actually has to crawl a bit to get to where Oikawa is, spread out in the middle, and the other boy immediately latches onto him, wrapping his slender arms around Daichi’s waist and resting his head on Daichi’s chest.  Daichi brings his left arm behind his own head, a kind of makeshift pillow; after a moment of hesitation, he brings his right arm around Oikawa’s waist, fingers dancing along the hem of the boy’s sweatshirt.

There’s nothing but the sound of their breathing, for a while.  The lights in the bedroom are still off, but the living room lights are on and cast a sliver of yellow light across Daichi’s torso.  Oikawa smells like vanilla and something else that’s hard for Daichi to place – ginger, maybe?  His hair is tickling Daichi’s collar bone, but the touch is so feather-soft that he can’t even be bothered by it.  Something about this feels familiar, like a memory from a particularly vivid dream, but the particular way Oikawa’s fingers are gripping Daichi’s side, still urgent somehow, speaks to something else entirely.

“... Don’t think this was in my job description.”

“That’s ‘cause this is usually Iwa-chan’s job,” Oikawa’s voice is muffled in the fabric of Daichi’s shirt, “Or Yuutaro-kun.  Or Kunimi-chan that one time, but he got embarrassed because he’s such a little spoon.”

Daichi laughs quietly, “Should I call him?  Iwaizumi-san?”

“Not yet.  I’ll call him later.”

Daichi doesn’t ask why ‘not yet.’  He also doesn’t comment on how unabashedly needy Oikawa seems to be when it comes to physical affection.  He’d noticed it, sure, in the small ways Oikawa always makes his presence known to the people around him: an arm slung around a shoulder, a head rested on a shoulder, even just a fist bump or a high five.  It’s… refreshing, Daichi thinks.

(And, besides, telling himself that a bit of cuddling with a friend or co-worker is completely normal for Oikawa is the only way Daichi can calm down the current hammering of his heart.)

“Hey, you called me Daichi earlier.”

“Oh,” Oikawa swivels a bit, so that he can crane his neck to look up at Daichi, “Is that bad?  Have you grown accustomed to my adorable nicknames, Sawa-chan?  Hm... or maybe… Sawacchi?”

Daichi cringes.  Oikawa certainly has a talent, “Daichi is fine, please.”

“Not… Dai-chan?”

“If you must.”

“ _If you must_ ,” Oikawa repeats, imitating Daichi’s low baritone, “Well, you can always call me Tooru.  I’m a fair employer, after all.”

“I’m honored,” Daichi deadpans.  And then, after a beat of silence, “You know, we can talk.  If you want, I’m here for you.”

Oikawa makes a soft, contented noise, and just when Daichi thinks he might actually open up, he says, “I’ll pass.  But we should still talk about me.  Seen any more of my movies lately?”

Daichi huffs, but indulges Oikawa, “Yes, actually.  I finally saw _The Grand King_ ,” it’s Oikawa’s most well-known work, “oh, and _Full Moon’s Eve_.”   _Full Moon’s Eve_ was a cult hit, a low-budget film in which Oikawa played a minor character who pines for the protagonist, played by a well-known actor named Semi Eita.  As far as coming-of-age movies go, Daichi thought it was exceptional.

“And your opinion was…?”

“I’m not going to stroke your ego, Oikawa,” Daichi mumbles, laughing a bit, “You already know they’re good.  You’re good.”

It’s quiet again between them, and Daichi is halfway to sleep before he hears Oikawa pipe up again, voice uncharacteristically soft, “You know, after _Full Moon_ came out, I remember a lot of people would ask me – oh, Oikawa, wasn’t it hard to act out a character that’s in love with another man?  Wasn’t it awkward?  And I was kind of young, I got what they were really asking, but I just didn’t care enough to lie,” Daichi goes still, feeling the way Oikawa’s fingers are tensing and untensing and then tensing again in the fabric of his t-shirt, voice muffled and hoarse from crying earlier.

“Whatever, I said, it wasn’t hard,” Oikawa continues, “I like girls and I like boys so acting it out just has to do with getting in the _moment_ , or what the fuck ever I said.  Maybe I thought they’d think I was just a really good actor.  That was what… four years ago?  I wasn’t new to this whole thing, so it was stupid of me.”

“It’s not stupid,” Daichi says immediately, “It’s never stupid to tell the truth.”

At that, Oikawa laughs, but not unkindly, “You’re so chivalrous aren’t you, Dai-chan?  Very old-fashioned.  But that’s nice that you think like that,” he pauses again, and Daichi can feel Oikawa’s jaw clenching, “A lot of people don’t.  Think like that, I mean.  But they like me enough to keep me around, and give me some good roles, and I pretend it’s not patronizing to watch the kind of guys they bring in for these leading roles.”

 _He didn’t get the role,_ Daichi realizes.  That’s what Oikawa is saying, trying to explain in his roundabout way.  He didn’t get the role.  And the implication of _why_ he didn’t get the role is making Daichi’s blood boil.

“What did they say?”

“... Huh?”

Daichi sits up, ignoring Oikawa’s protesting, gripping the other boy’s shoulders with both hands, “What did they say?”

“Masculine,” Oikawa spits out.  Daichi can see from the flash in Oikawa’s eyes just how much the word wounds him, “They wanted someone more _masculine.”_  Code for: someone who doesn’t like men.

In a moment, Daichi is up off the bed and out into the hallway, Oikawa left stammering, head smushed into the sheets from where he falls over without Daichi’s chest to support his head.  By the time he stumbles out into the living room, Daichi is already shuffling his coat on, fighting with the sleeve and muttering to himself, brow furrowed.

“I just wanna talk,” he says, when he sees a confused Oikawa tip-toe into the foyer, “What was the address again?  Wait— do we have their number, the casting director?”

“What the fuck?” Oikawa can’t help the laughter that bubbles up from his throat and hits him so hard he has to lean against the wall for support, “Daichi, what the fuck, you can’t literally fight the casting director for not hiring me!”

“I—” Daichi frowns, looking down to where his arm is still tangled in his coat sleeve, “I wasn’t… I wasn’t thinking I guess.  I just got upset.”

“I figured,” Oikawa is still snickering, wiping a tear from his eye, “You’re something else sometimes, you know that?”

“It’s not fair.”

Oikawa strides over to where Daichi is standing, and grabs the other boy’s coat, “I know that, believe me,” he hangs Daichi’s coat back on the rack, “But it is what it is.  I’m not manly, or what the fuck ever.  Not like Iwa-chan, or you.”

“But that’s bullshit,” Daichi’s eyebrows have been knitted together so long he’s starting to get a headache, “Because I’m—” he cuts himself off and has to summon the willpower to continue, looking anywhere but up at Oikawa, whose eyes are wide and searching his face keenly.

“I like men.  I’ve dated men,” Daichi finally says, “It’s not strange, it’s not… I’m not a different person because of it, it’s just part of me.  Neither are you— you’re still… they shouldn’t…” Daichi isn’t sure what he’s trying to explain, what kind of comforting notion he’s hoping to pass on to Oikawa by sharing something personal about himself.  Maybe he just wants to say: _it’s them who are wrong; there’s nothing wrong with you._

The expression Oikawa is giving him is unreadable, maybe somewhere between exhausted and grateful.  Wordlessly, he reaches out to cup the side of Daichi’s face with his right hand.  Daichi can feel every callous on Oikawa’s long fingers as he slides his hand up Daichi’s face, before pinching _hard_ at the flesh of Daichi’s cheek.

“Oh, Dai-chan… I think that’s enough soul-bearing for tonight, wouldn’t you say?”

Daichi just nods and smiles, thinking that sounds a lot like a _thank you._

 

(Oikawa insists that Daichi spend the night, and they fall asleep side-by-side in Oikawa’s (uselessly gigantic) bed.

When Oikawa wakes, though, Daichi is gone.  In the living room, there’s a distinctly head-shaped impression on one of the couch cushions that implies that Daichi left the bed sometime in the middle of the night.  Oikawa downs at least three cups of coffee, and still can’t figure out why he feels so disappointed at the idea.)


	2. are you bothered?

**_Interview with Oikawa Tooru Ahead of His Newest Film Premiere_ **

_After his break-out role in the_ The Great King _back in 2010, Oikawa Tooru quickly became a household name.  Oikawa has acted in romances and action movies alike, giving him a fierce fanbase with both women and men.  His handsome looks have gotten him noticed too, and Oikawa now serves as the Japanese face of the Burberry fashion company._

_Oikawa’s newest movie, the indie drama_ Dark Horse _, is generating a lot of awards buzz, and premieres next week.  ARAMA! JAPAN got the chance to sit down with Oikawa to discuss the movie, his life, and where he hopes to head next._

**_Interviewer (I):_ ** _Thank you for sitting down with us!  I know you have been on the road for the last couple weeks promoting your film, is it tiring to be traveling so much?_

**_Oikawa (O):_ ** _It’s a pleasure to be here!  And, truthfully, the traveling is not bad.  I enjoy it, and I like getting to spend more time with the cast.  Plus, I love meeting my cute fans, of course!_

**_I:_ ** _Who in the cast would you say you’re the closest to?_

**_O:_** _Aw, you know I couldn’t choose!  But I love Kyouken-chan [Kyoutani Kentaro]_ _since he’s so easy to tease.  He’ll be mad that I said that, though._

**_I:_** _What’s so unique about this movie,_ Dark Horse _?  It’s been getting a lot of good reviews._

**_O:_ ** _Well, of course it’s good since I’m in it! [Oikawa laughs] Well, Takeda-san is a great director, so the movie is incredibly beautiful in the way it’s shot.  From the cuts I’ve seen, you really feel like you’re there with the characters, which isn’t always an experience you get from movies nowadays.  Your heart really races when you watch it._

**_I:_** _Do you have any new roles lined up right now?  Many were disappointed to hear you weren’t cast in_ The Last Kingdom _, but you always seem to have something up your sleeve._

**_O:_ ** _You could say that!  Although, I’m not filming anything right now.  Taking a short break can be good to recalibrate._

**_I:_ ** _We heard recently that you were offered the chance to record an album.  Is it true that we might be seeing you as a J-Pop star sometime soon?_

**_O:_ ** _That’s, um… I haven’t exactly decided on that as of now.  I’m humbled by the offer, of course!  Some people, like my staff, are forced to listen to my absent-minded singing all the time, so they’ve already gotten tired of my dulcet tones!_

**_I:_ ** _Some of your assistants and staff are already well-known among your fans, wouldn’t you say?_

**_O:_ ** _My fans do their research for sure!  Kunimi-chan [Oikawa’s makeup artist Kunimi Akira] is quite popular, but he’s shy.  Or so he says!_

**_I:_ ** _What about your new personal bodyguard, Sawamura Daichi?  We haven’t learned much about him yet, but fans on Twitter are impressed by how young and handsome he is._

**_O:_ ** _Dai-chan is boring, trust me!  Ah, but maybe he is a secret heartbreaker.  I’ll have to make him get Twitter so everyone can see all he does is make corny jokes and scold me._

**_I:_ ** _Is he seeing anyone?  Asking for a friend._

**_O:_ ** _Nope!  Well, he sees me every day.  [Oikawa laughs]  His potential suitors will have to get in line!_

 

+

 

**Tooru** ☆ @oikawatooru  
“I woke up at 4AM today so I went to the gym, because when I’m up I can’t go back to bed” --- a real thing Dai-chan just said to me. YAWN

**Tooru** ☆ @oikawatooru  
“Oikawa, you’re going to hurt your eyes if you keep looking at your phone screen so closely” --- someone stop this man.

**Tooru** ☆ @oikawatooru  
“Oikawa, why are you typing every time I talk?” --- SAVE ME

 

**“you are my blossom”** @tooruupdates  
Oikawa Tooru interview with ARAMA! JAPAN on his upcoming film premiere and possible music career: [LINK]

**“you are my blossom”** @tooruupdates  
[POLL] If Oikawa records an album, who should he collab with?  
     ○ Shimizu Kiyoko  
     ○ JPop duo COWL  
     ○ Tsukishima Kei  
     ○ Other [tell us below!]

**“you are my blossom”** @tooruupdates  
LMS if you are currently losing your mind because of Oikawa Tooru

**temi @ OIDAI HELL** @oikqwqs   
@tooruupdates *SMASHES THAT MFING LIKE BUTTON*

**temi @ OIDAI HELL** @oikqwqs  
like…. what did I Do in a past life to deserve Oikawa Tooru

♡ **ミカ** ♡ @bluesky299  
@oikqwqas And what did we do to deserve Sawamura Daichi… Truly…

**temi @ OIDAI HELL** @oikqwqs  
@bluesky299 DAI-CHAN!!!!! I’m literally crying @ everything right now

**mic** **∠** **(** **ᐛ** **」** **∠** **)** **＿** @micccrantz  
@oikqwqs @bluesky299 do you think we’ll finally get a good picture of them at the movie premiere?

♡ **ミカ** ♡ @bluesky299  
@michellerantz @oikqwqs I hope so!! Oikawa will be handsome as always but this is Sawamura-kun’s first big premiere so hopefully he’ll be dressed up too!

 

**“you are my blossom”** @tooruupdates  
[EXCLUSIVE] A source met Oikawa the other day, she asked if he would sing a bit for her!  Here is the video: [VIDEO]

**“you are my blossom”** @tooruupdates  
(HE REALLY IS AN ANGEL)

♡ **ミカ** ♡ @bluesky299  
@tooruupdates VOICE OF AN ANGEL

**mic** **∠** **(** **ᐛ** **」** **∠** **)** **＿** @micccrantz  
@tooruupdates HE’S AN ANGEL

**temi @ OIDAI HELL** @oikqwqs  
@tooruupdates ANGEL!!!!!!!

 

+

 

“You think you’re very clever, don’t you?”

“I don’t think, Daichi.  I _know_.”

To the confusion and delight of his Twitter following, Oikawa has spent the better part of the day live-tweeting nearly everything that Daichi says (complete with many unflattering photos.)   _I need to prove a point_ , Oikawa had said.  And, after a week and a half on the road with Oikawa for _Dark Horse_ promotion, Daichi is simply no longer able to summon the energy to protest

“Are you also going to tweet this?” Daichi asks, but the way Oikawa’s fingers are already tapping away at his phone seem to answer the question.

They’re at a rooftop cafe in a part of Tokyo much ritzier than Daichi has ever seen before.  Daichi has always been good at projecting confidence in odd situations, even if he’s out-of-place, but even so he feels a bit jittery.  Just a few months ago, a place like this would have had him stammering in awe.

He and Oikawa seem to be the only customers at the moment.  They’re waiting for a representative from the talent company that’s offered Oikawa a record deal.  He’s quite late.

No matter.  A waiter, dressed in a suit more expensive than anything that Daichi owns, brings them drinks: mimosas for Oikawa, club soda for Daichi.  There are appetizers on the table, brought to them free of cost, but they remain untouched.  (Oikawa is on a _cleanse_.)

“Actually, this is making my Twitter look really boring,” Oikawa lounges in his chair, “Say something more interesting, Dai-chan.”

“You could always tweet something like ‘Oh, Daichi is so handsome and strong and better than me in every way.’”

Oikawa flushes, placing his phone face-down on the table and cupping his hands around his mouth in a makeshift megaphone, “BO- _RING!!_ ”

“Ah, there’s the voice we want to hear,” Daichi has been watching the representative from the talent company approach the table, but it’s only now that Oikawa notices.  The old man claps Oikawa on the back.

The actor clears his throat, standing up, “S-Sorry.  It’s a pleasure to finally meet you Nekomata-san.”

Nekomata Yasufumi is short, at least two heads smaller than the towering Oikawa, who bows deeply in introduction, “And this is my personal bodyguard Sawamura Daichi.”

“Sawamura,” Nekomata smiles, and Daichi has a jolt of recognition that paralyzes him for a second, “Good to see you again.”

Oikawa, who has sat back down and begun nursing his mimosa again, nearly does a spit-take, “Excuse… me?  Dai-chan, did you have a secret rock star career you haven’t told me about?”

“No…” Daichi rubs the back of his neck, “Nekomata-san, good to see you.  I didn’t recognize you at first.”

“Sawamura-kun is familiar with some of my other clients,” Nekomata explains as he takes a seat, grinning at a dumbfounded Oikawa, “You were in university with Bokuto and Kuroo, correct?  Before I recruited them.”

“And before I dropped out,” Daichi nods, a grim smile on his face.

“And look where you are now,” Nekomata gestures to the view of the city they’re able to witness from the roof.  It’s breathtaking, frankly, “We all turn out alright somehow, hm?  Now, let’s get down to business.”

When setting up the meeting with Nekomata, Oikawa had been stubborn about his wish to attend alone, without his PR staff or manager.  And, because Oikawa usually gets his way, they had relented.  Only at the insistence of a senior security guard had Oikawa agreed to bring Daichi.  The negotiations are informal, and not terribly difficult or tense.  In the end Oikawa, tipsy off of a few too many mimosas, still manages to wrangle a pretty sweet deal out of the wry Nekomata-san.

“So what’s the story with you and Nekomata?” Oikawa asks after the meeting, while they’re in the car on the way to drop Daichi off at home.

“Oh,” Daichi shrugs.  It’s not much of a story: Daichi had met Bokuto and Kuroo in college, and stayed in touch with them after he dropped out.  It wasn’t long until they followed suit, leaving university to join a boy band of Nekomata-san’s own making.  The group fizzled, but after striking out on their own, Bokuto and Kuroo found success with their pop duo ‘COWL.’

“Kind of a cool name,” Oikawa says, nodding.  Daichi decides not to tell him just yet that it’s just a mash-up of Kuroo and Bokuto’s favorite animals – ‘cat’ and ‘owl.’  “And that’s how you met Nekomata?”

“Ah… Bokuto and Kuroo insisted I come along to contract negotiations,” Daichi explains, “They needed someone more level-headed.”

Daichi expects Oikawa to mock him for this, or make fun of him for always having to be the responsible one, but he just nods in apparent understanding, “I get it.  It was helpful having you there today.”

In reality, Daichi hadn’t done much of anything at the meeting other than provide perhaps a familiar presence for Oikawa.  But it was hard not to notice how on edge Oikawa was lately, how in need of comfort he seemed to be.  Everything about the record deal, the branching out into a music career – Oikawa was still hesitant.  His eyes still glazed over whenever anyone mentioned it, like he couldn’t keep his own brain from going through the motions, calculating the risk, the potential for success, the opportunity cost with respect to his acting career.  It’s multiple times a day that Daichi just wants to grab Oikawa’s head with both hands and tell him to _stop_.

He doesn’t quite do that, but as the car rounds the corner into Daichi’s neighborhood, he rests his hand on Oikawa’s shoulder.  The other man leans into the touch, almost instinctively, resting his head against Daichi’s hand and exhaling deeply.

“Tell me everything’s going to be okay.”

“Everything’s going to be okay,” Daichi smiles; he was about to say that anyway.

“I know, you don’t have to tell me that.”

“You were the one who asked me!”

“I don’t recall!” Oikawa shrugs Daichi’s hand off his shoulder, smiling slyly, “Any big plans for your weekend off?”

That’s right, Daichi thinks.  This will be the first full weekend he’s had off since beginning work for Oikawa.  Sure, he’s had pockets of days off here and there, but never a full weekend, with all the opportunities that weekends usually afford.

But, alas, “Nah.  Just going to get some rest, I guess.”

Oikawa sighs, then pulls his phone up to snap a picture of Daichi’s face, “This… man… is… wanted… for… being… boring,” he says, typing out what Daichi assumes to be another tweet.

He can’t summon the energy to get riled up at Oikawa’s teasing; it really has been a long week, “Being boring is part of my charm.”

The car stops outside Daichi’s apartment building, and he grabs his things and opens the door, wishing Oikawa a good night.

But Oikawa makes him pause, grabbing the hem of Daichi’s jacket as he climbs out of the car, “Um.  You know I’m just resting this weekend too,” Oikawa says, a blush blooming in on his cheeks and quickly spreading down his face, “So, you can always come over.  We can be boring together, or whatever.”

“Yeah,” Daichi responds, maybe a bit too quickly.  He busies himself with adjusting the strap of his backpack, “Yeah, that would be nice.”

 

 

Daichi actually does take Oikawa up on his offer, and the two of them, along with Iwaizumi, spend Saturday night lounging in Oikawa’s living room, feeling a lot like a group of teenage girls at a sleepover.  They order a smorgasbord of takeout, crack open a few beers, and put a shitty movie on in the background, both Daichi and Iwaizumi rolling their eyes every time Oikawa interject some complaint about the lead actor’s method or the blocking of the scene, or something else that Daichi only half understands.

“Sometimes I forget he’s actually an actor until he goes off like this,” Daichi says off-hand to Iwaizumi, while Oikawa lectures the TV.

“Seriously?  You spend so much time with him on set, I’d imagine it’s hard to forget it.”

That should probably be true.  But to Daichi, Oikawa is still just the kid he remembers from middle school.  Even now, watching him work, seeing his movies, following him around to red carpets and art galleries and exclusive nightclubs, Daichi can’t shake the images of Oikawa on the volleyball court, laser-focused and unforgiving.

“So, how’d you end up teaching?” Daichi asks, quick to change the subject.  He knows Iwaizumi and Oikawa have been friends since childhood, which makes it likely that Iwaizumi went to the same middle school as Oikawa.  Sawamura doesn’t know how Iwaizumi would react to the fact that Daichi is essentially some weirdo who sought Oikawa out years and years after middle school.

“No particular reason, really,” Iwaizumi shrugs, though that certainly can’t be true.

“Iwa-chan is good at motivating people,” Oikawa says, returning to the fold after his one-sided rant, “I’ve never seen a more productive gym class in my life.  I never worked that hard in gym!”

“Idiot,” Iwaizumi says, though he’s smiling, “They were all doing that because you were there, they probably wanted to impress you.”

“Why do they think I care how fast they can do a rope climb?”

“High schoolers aren’t quite logical,” Daichi says, laughing under his breath.

“Hm,” Oikawa pouts, “I feel like I missed out on my formative high school years.  Iwa-chan, what would it have been like if I stayed in high school?”

“Well you would’ve gone to Aoba Johsai, probably.  With me,” Iwaizumi says, and Daichi recognizes the name; it’s a school he had played against in volleyball a few times, always losing.  They were a powerhouse school, but notably weaker than usual during the time Daichi was in high school.

“We would’ve both been on the volleyball team,” Iwaizumi adds.  Daichi busies himself with a long sip of his beer, “Well, I wouldn’t have left the team if you were there.  And we would’ve kicked ass.”

“Aw, Iwa-chan, you’re so cute,” Oikawa goes to pinch Iwaizumi’s cheek, but the other swats his hand away, “We really would have been good.  Maybe in another life I’m a famous volleyball player instead of a famous actor!”

“Why do you always have to be famous?”

“I’m famous in every life!”

It’s a ridiculous statement, but Daichi finds himself nodding in agreement.  Surely, no matter what kind of life he had decided to live, no matter how many parallel universes that exist, no matter how many reincarnations, Oikawa would always find his way toward the spotlight.  Daichi’s never been more sure of anything in his life.

The night winds down with more bickering and bantering, and it’s not long before Daichi and Iwaizumi have to guide Oikawa, tipsy off one too many beers, to the bedroom and tuck him in.

“I hate being friends with heavyweights,” Oikawa grumbles, shucking off his clothes and climbing into bed clad only in his boxers.  Daichi hopes Iwaizumi doesn’t notice the way his eyes linger a bit too long on the dimples of Oikawa’s lower back.

“I’ll be off,” Iwaizumi says, giving them a quick goodbye wave and leaving before Daichi can think twice.  Now he’s alone with Oikawa in the darkness of Oikawa’s bedroom.  Again.

“What was high school like for you, Dai-chan?” Oikawa mumbles, half-asleep.

Daichi shrugs, perching on the edge of Oikawa’s (literally massive) bed, “Pretty normal.  I did okay in classes, I had some good friends.”

“Everyone thinks you look like a lady-killer, but I know better,” Oikawa laughs, “You weren’t popular at all were you?”

“You’re rude when you’re drunk,” Daichi says, pulling on Oikawa’s ear until the other man whines, “I did alright.”

And then, because perhaps he too is a bit tipsy from several beers, Daichi continues, “I started dating a friend of mine in my last year of high school, and we actually stayed together at first during college, even though I was in Tokyo and he stayed in Sendai.  To be honest, I kind of thought we’d stay together forever.”

Oikawa scoffs, “It’s always like that,” he mumbles, shuffling a bit closer to the edge of the bed where Daichi is sitting, close enough so that his head is resting right next to Daichi’s arm.

“I guess you’re right,” Daichi smiles down at Oikawa, barely hesitating before ruffling his hand through the other boy’s hair.  This earns him a noise of appreciation from Oikawa, “We broke up though, after I dropped out of school.  Everything was changing too much, all of it all at once.”

It had been years since then, but Daichi still thought about it, the way that his ex-boyfriend, Sugawara, had pulled away.  It was gentle, compassionate, almost.  Like Suga knew that it was best, like he knew that Daichi needed to let go and start over, in every part of his life.  And Suga had not even been mad about it, he understood what Daichi was doing even when Daichi himself wasn’t sure why he was doing what he was doing.

“Why’d you drop out?” Oikawa asks, voice soft with near-sleep, “Seems weird for a responsible guy like you.”

“Dunno,” Daichi says.  Because even after all this time, he can’t understand why.

“Dumb.  You’re just saying that to maintain your mysterious persona.”

Daichi chuckles under his breath, pulling on Oikawa’s bangs, “I’m mysterious, huh?  I thought you said I was boring.”

“Shut up,” Oikawa says, although he’s nuzzling his head against Daichi’s hand, “What is this, your personal therapy session?  You’ll have to start paying me soon.”

Oikawa is close to sleep, and it dulls the edge of his teasing.  Daichi stays, stroking his hand through Oikawa’s hair, until he feels the boy drift off to sleep, snoring softly.  Oikawa, Daichi thinks, might be one of the few people who can actually look pretty while asleep.  He looks peaceful, as beautiful in sleep as he is when awake; long, dark eyelashes brushing against the tops of his cheeks.

It’s only with a great deal of personal willpower that Daichi manages to tear himself away, call a cab, and finally find his way home.

 

+

 

“Well, Oikawa-kun, if we might ask, can you give us a little sneak peek or some inside info about your upcoming album?  We heard that the deal was recently finalized.”

This is the eighth time Oikawa has been asked this exact question, moving down the line of reporters straining against the velvet ropes of the red carpet.  And, for the eighth time, he just winks at the interviewer, telling her, “I don’t want to spoil the surprise!”

The _Dark Horse_ premiere event is a bit larger than Oikawa expected, and much larger than the usual premieres for Takeda-san’s films.  The director looks completely over the moon, face scrunched-up in pure happiness, his words barely coherent from how fast and excitedly he’s speaking.  The speed and frequency of Takeda’s bows could certainly break the sound barrier.  It’s great to see, and while Oikawa would like to take credit for the great turnout, the film itself has been getting outstanding reviews from critics, which is the likelier answer for why the premiere has become an A-list event.

The actor poses for a few more photos, chats with a couple more interviewers, and takes selfies and signs some belongings for the fans who have gathered outside.  Something feels a bit _off_ , and Oikawa can’t put his finger on it until one of the security guards hired specifically for the red carpet starts ushering Oikawa along, inside toward the theatre.

_Oh,_ Oikawa thinks, realizing that without even thinking about it, he had been scanning the crowd for Daichi.  He, along with the rest of Oikawa’s team, is waiting in the wings should Oikawa need anything.  

On the red carpet, Oikawa is completely alone.  Surrounded by countless other celebrities, flashing cameras, screaming fans – yes.  But alone.  This is the first time in recent memory that he’s been so cognizant of that fact.

Before being shuffled inside, Oikawa manages to slip away, to a relatively remote corner of the building.  He’s still in view of some paparazzi and a few fans, but they’re fenced off, at least a couple hundred feet away.  Oikawa whips out his phone and sends a quick text.

Within a minute, Daichi is there, smiling wryly and handing Oikawa a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, “Kunimi said you needed these.  He also said not to fuck up your concealer.”

“Idiot,” Oikawa takes the pack gratefully, lighting one cigarette and pocketing the rest, “I told him to bake it.”

“You don’t smoke,” Daichi says matter-of-factly, eyes following the way Oikawa brings the cigarette to his mouth and takes a puff, almost immediately letting the smoke curl out of his mouth.

“I don’t,” Oikawa taps his thumb against the end of the cigarette, letting the ashes fall to the ground, “I hate it, actually.  But it’s the only way you can really get a moment of peace and quiet sometimes.  No one bats an eye if you ask to mediate or get into character or whatever on set, but if I stand still for a freaking second at these things I immediately get someone moving me around, or adjusting me, or asking me something.  Now, I can just say ‘oh, I need a smoke.’  And they leave me alone.”

“I get it,” Daichi nods, leaning against the brick wall of the building.  Oikawa swats his shoulder, telling him to stand up straight, lest he get his suit dirty.

The suit Daichi is wearing is worth at least two month’s salary.  Daichi had protested profusely, but eventually Oikawa had simply deployed Kindaichi to escort Daichi to the tailor’s, where he had finally been fitted.  Daichi was under the impression the suit was a rental, but Oikawa had already paid for it for him.  This was the first big premiere Daichi was working, and there was sure to be more in the future.  He would need it, after all.

That’s what Oikawa tells himself, anyway.  He pretends his instant impulse to buy the suit for Daichi didn’t come about because when Kindaichi had texted Oikawa the picture of Daichi trying it on, Oikawa’s breath had caught in his throat.  He had been so speechless at how _good_ Daichi looked, plain and simple, that he fudged the numbers three times as he frantically texted Kindaichi his credit card number.

Now that it’s been fitted, the suit looks even sharper on Daichi.  It’s nothing special, really, just a pure black suit and tie paired with a crisp white button-down.  Daichi is also wearing a cummerbund, which Oikawa thinks is a bit old-fashioned, but with the ensemble complete it does match Daichi’s old-fashioned good looks; the square jaw, the dark eyes, the slicked-back hair.

“I think people will get suspicious if you don’t actually smoke that.”

Oikawa realizes he’s trailed off, too caught up in appraising how Daichi looks in his new suit.  The bodyguard smiles, nodding toward where Oikawa has neglected his cigarette, and the embers seem to be fading.  Oikawa takes two long drags; they’re harsh, and he coughs.

“You looked good out there,” Daichi says, hands clasped behind his back.  He’s surveying their surroundings in the subtle way he always does.

Oikawa’s suit is a deep purple, because of course it is.  He’s forgone the tie, opting instead for a white collared shirt with the top few buttons undone, a small silver necklace hanging against his collarbone.  His hair is swept a bit higher on his forehead than usual, and his shoes are dark grey and coated in glitter, “I can feel the bloggers already critiquing my fashion choices.”

“I’m sure your fans like it.”

There’s a group of a few dozen fans on the street corner about two hundred feet away, cheering and waving at Oikawa with an unstoppable energy.  Oikawa gives them a quick wave of his fingers and they explode in cheers, “Probably.  I think they’re a bit more curious in how you look, Dai-chan!”

Daichi clicks his tongue, looking over at the fans, “You tell me that, but I still don’t believe it.  Why do your fans care about a bodyguard?”

“Because you’re _my_ bodyguard.  Everyone around me is of instant importance, that’s how fame works, my dear Daichi.”

Oikawa follows up his statement by turning again to the fans, gesturing at Daichi, and then moving his hand, alternating between a thumbs-up and thumbs-down motion, apparently asking them to render judgement.  The group, ecstatic at the attention, give Daichi at least two dozen thumbs up.

For his part, Daichi just looks bemused, giving the fans a small wave of his own before returning to his usual stance, “I don’t think I’m equipped to understand fame.”

“Good thing that’s not your job,” Oikawa muses.  For some reason, at that moment he’s reminded of Daichi’s first weeks on the job, back when Oikawa was trying his very best to make Daichi’s life and job as hard as possible.  And yet, it had always seemed like Daichi was going about everything effortlessly, like the ability to mold and fit himself into Oikawa’s life had always been innate with him.  Oikawa would almost resent it, if he wasn’t so grateful for it.

“Well, my actual job right now is to tell you that it’s way past time for you to head inside,” Daichi says, smiling apologetically.  He reaches an arm out, hand pushing against the small of Oikawa’s back to guide him along.

“Such a buzz kill!” Oikawa sighs dramatically, taking one final drag of his cigarette.  He leans in toward Daichi and blows the smoke in the man’s face, lips pursed and only a few inches from Daichi’s own.

“Oikawa— What the—” Daichi coughs, and Oikawa drops the half-smoked cigarette to the ground, crushing it under the toe of his shoe, laughing all the while.

  


During the premiere, Oikawa is sat next to a young actress whose name he can’t recall.  Daichi and the rest of Oikawa’s team is seated in the rear mezzanine.  Two-thirds of the way through the screening, Oikawa excuses himself and sneaks up to where they are.

Identifying Daichi or Kunimi or any of his PR staff just from the backs of their heads is a fool’s errand, but finding Kindaichi is almost _too_ easy.  Oikawa could spot that onion head from anywhere.

“Guess who?” Oikawa whispers, clamping his hands over the eyes of his assistant.

“O-Oikawa-san,” Kindaichi hisses, though he makes no movement to move Oikawa’s hands.

Kindaichi is in an aisle seat; Oikawa squats down in the aisle next to him, “Oi, tell Kunimi-chan to wake up, he’s the worst!”

“I am awake,” Kunimi mumbles, but he’s still resting his head on Kindaichi’s shoulder, looking half-asleep, “My favorite part of the movie is coming up.”  On screen, a burly man with a sniper rifle is aiming at the head of Oikawa’s character.

“My character is about to die!”

“I know, that’s why I love it.”

“ _Kunimi_ ,” Kindaichi chides, “Oikawa, is everything alright?”

“Huh?  Oh, yeah,” Oikawa is looking down the row, past Kunimi.  Next to him is Oikawa’s PR manager, then an empty seat, where he had expected to see Daichi.

Kindaichi seems to read his mind, “Sawamura-san is down by the cars.  I think he’s napping, he was up late last night helping to screen people for the Burberry store launch next week.”

Oikawa makes an annoyed noise, like a girl who’s just found out she’s been stood up on a date, “I see.  I mean, he deserves his rest… I didn’t know he was doing so much for the opening,” Oikawa is nibbling on the inside of his pointer finger, decidedly avoiding whatever strange look Kindaichi is surely giving him, “Um.  Tell him he’s got the night off.  And the weekend too, I’ll have Takashi come with me to the after-parties.  Let poor Dai-chan get his rest.”

“Sure thing, I’m sure he’ll appreciate it,” Kindaichi swipes at his phone, and pretends not to notice the odd look on Oikawa’s face.

 

+

 

« **Bokuto Koutarou** has opened a group message »  
« **Bokuto Koutarou** added **Kuroo Testsurou**

**Kuroo:** oh ho?

« **Bokuto Koutarou** added **Sawamura Daichi** »

**Bokuto:** oh ho ho!  
**Daichi:** No.

« **Kuroo Tetsurou** changed the group name to **TRASH HEAP CREW** »

**Bokuto:** Yeah!!!!!  
**Kuroo:** ohhh yeah B)  
**Daichi:** I did not sanction this group text nor will I partake in it  
**Kuroo:** damn workin with oikawa made you dramatic!  
**Kuroo:** cant you indulge your dear old friends…   
**Bokuto:** don’t forget us now that you’re famous Daichi!!  
**Daichi:** You two are literally famous get out of here  
**Kuroo:** uh nah  
**Bokuto:** yeah trash heap crew is making a comeback!!!!!!  
**Bokuto:** we’re free tomorrow night come out with us!!  
**Kuroo:** just like old times  
**Kuroo:** before you got more famous friends to hang out with…. :’’’’(  
**Daichi:** Oh I actually saw Nekomata-san the other day  
**Daichi:** Also, no  
**Kuroo:** okay 1) weird but cool and 2) oikawa was right u really are boring  
**Daichi:** Are you  
**Daichi:** Are you following him on Twitter  
**Bokuto:** it’s too good bro, really quality content  
**Bokuto:** Kuroo made a fake fan account it’s hilarious  
**Kuroo:** some of the iwaioi chicks are intense but i think im growing on them tbh  
**Daichi:** The what  
**Kuroo:** im actually pretty big in the oidai shipping circles  
**Bokuto:** nice!!!!  
**Daichi:** The WHAT  
**Kuroo:** aahahahahahaha oh man you really need to come hang with us  
**Bokuto:** you really need a drink dude!!  
**Daichi:** I mean maybe. But what makes you that?  
**Bokuto:** okay well, okay um  
**Kuroo:** yeah, not to be the bearer of lame news here or anything  
**Kuroo:** but you should [ read this]  
**Daichi:** …  
**Bokuto:** man the limelight sucks sometimes  
**Kuroo:** youre tellin me!  
**Bokuto:** bro I AM telling you!  
**Kuroo:** dude!!  
**Bokuto:** dude!!!!!!!!!  
**Daichi:** Okay ah  
**Kuroo:** :3c  
**Daichi:** So  
**Daichi:** When do you want to meet for that drink?

 

  
**Oikawa:** hey u **  
Oikawa:** i saw about the  
**Oikawa:** thing  
**Oikawa:** i know how annoying this can be  
**Oikawa:** just wanted to say im sorry

 

+

 

When he finally has time to properly check his phone, Daichi realizes that he has 57 missed text messages (excluding the ones from Bokuto and Kuroo), 14 missed calls, and more emails than he cares to count.  (Daichi has not cleaned out his inbox in 4 years and has more than 16,000 unread emails.)

Most of the missed calls are from Oikawa, to whom Daichi shoots a quick text, telling him that everything is fine.  Two are from Kindaichi, one is from his childhood friend Asahi, and one is from Sugawara Koushi.  That last one is the call that Daichi returns, as he fishes through his fridge for something that could pass as breakfast.

“Daichi,” Suga’s voice is warm and familiar on the other end of the phone, “Long time, no talk.”

“Not true,” Daichi doesn’t mean to be immediately defensive, “We spoke on my birthday, remember?”

Suga laughs, “That was nearly four months ago!”

That brings Daichi pause.  Has it really been so long?  It was only a week or so after his birthday that Daichi had gotten the job with Oikawa, and it simultaneously felt like forever and no time at all since his life was first turned on its head in a manner only Oikawa Tooru was capable of.

“How’s the job?”

“It’s… well.  It has its ups and its down,” Daichi hesitates, abandoning his quest for breakfast and instead tapping his fingers against the kitchen counter, “Look, that’s why I called.  I’m sorry you accidentally, um…”

“Had my tragic gay backstory revealed?” Sugawara laughs again, “Oh, Daichi, you don’t have to apologize to me.  I only called because getting tagged in old pictures of us by strangers on Twitter reminded me we haven’t talked in a while.”

Daichi feels a surge of affection for Suga; even after all this time, he’s still the kind of solid, dependable friend most people spend a lifetime looking for, “I didn’t really think to make my Facebook private… I don’t even really use it anymore.”

“Daichi,” Suga whines, stretching out the vowels, “I said it’s alright!  You’re close to one of the most famous people in the country, I figured sooner or later some obsessed fans would go rooting through your old Facebook pics.”

“But still…”

“And all they found out is that you used to date an extremely handsome and dashing man by the name of Sugawara Koushi!”  Daichi has to laugh at that, and he thinks for a second that Oikawa and Suga would probably get along.

That was what the link Kuroo had sent him was, some online gossip site’s ‘investigation’ into the mysterious Sawamura Daichi’s past.  Daichi, for his part, has never kept up a good online presence, so it was true that the only thing Oikawa’s overly-curious fans had found were old pictures from high school, when Sugawara and Daichi had been dating.  Daichi couldn’t really bring himself to be that upset, but it was still mildly mortifying to have their mushy couple photos pasted all over the social media platform of your choice.

“You’re not going to get in trouble, though, right?”

“Oh, no, no…” Daichi realizes now that this was really why Sugawara had called, to make sure that he was alright, “I’ll have to talk to my supervisor about maybe switching some events… this happened to someone when I was working for Shimizu, he just had to lay low for a couple days, since it becomes a liability to stand out too much.”

“But, um,” Suga hesitates, “I mean, about… I know it’s a bit different for people in the public eye with—”

“Oh!” Daichi is starting to catch Sugawara’s drift, “Oh, it’s okay, it’s okay.  It’s really not an issue.  Oikawa is… everyone on the team is great.”

“Good… good,” Sugawara sighs, and then there’s a noise that sounds like he’s just flopped down on a bed, “So, Daichi, how about you tell me all about the great Oikawa Tooru…”

  


The bar that Kuroo and Bokuto have selected for the grand return of the Trash Heap Crew is appropriately horrifying, a hole-in-the-wall that has seen far better days, if it saw any good days at all.  The bouncers outside the entrance, apparently recognizing one of their own, nod at Daichi as he heads in.

Bokuto and Kuroo are not hard to find in a crowd.  Bokuto’s supersonic-loud _HEY HEY HEY!_ as Daichi enters is more than enough to get Daichi to crack a smile, and the three of them settle down at the bar.

“What’s up man?!  You look good, buff as always!” Bokuto claps Daichi on the back, while Kuroo motions for the bartender to bring them some drinks.

“You too, the superstar life suits you.”  It’s true; both Kuroo and Bokuto look relaxed and confident, even as they stand out among the crowd of salarymen and drunk twenty-somethings currently proliferating in the bar.  Their fashion sense, however, is as terrible as ever: Kuroo is wearing black skinny jeans that seem pretty ripped to shreds, huge chunky boots, and a cold-shoulder sweatshirt.  Bokuto seems to be wearing as many belts as can possibly fit around his hips, along with what might be the tightest tank top Daichi has ever seen.

“He’s admiring the guns.”

“Oh, definitely admiring the guns.”

Daichi – who was only admiring the guns a _small_ bit – tears his eyes away from Bokuto’s arms, “ _Ha ha_ , I’m sure you two are glad to have me back as your shared target for shenanigans.”

“Sawamura!!” Kuroo slings an arm over Daichi’s shoulders, “We’re just glad to have you back, period!”

“Yeah,” Bokuto raises his drink, “We’ve been so crazy busy lately, it’s nice to reconnect.”

“This is just a casual night out with friends.”

“Yeah, cas’ night out.”

To say Daichi is dubious of this statement would be a severe understatement.  Nevertheless, he raises his drink with a small smile, enjoying the cheerful _clink!_ sound it makes when he tips it against Kuroo and Bokuto’s glasses.

“Alright.  To a casual night out.”

 

+

 

At 10:30PM, feeling a strange spike in responsibility, Oikawa Tooru gives himself an at-home facial, plucks the stray hairs from his eyebrows, tidies up his bedroom, watches one episode of the X-Files, and tucks himself into bed all before midnight.  He puts on his sleeping mask, turns on some ambient nature noises, and lets out a contented sigh as he drifts off to sleep.

At 3:47AM, feeling an altogether appropriate spike in fury, Oikawa Tooru awakes to the sound of his door buzzer being rung again and again and _again_.  A consistent and growing sound of bzz _!  bzzz!!! BBZZZZZ!!!!_

“What the fuck on Earth do you—”

Outside Oikawa’s door is Sawamura Daichi, looking cheerful and a little bit worse for the wear.

“Oikawa!  God, I’m so glad you’re actually home, I wasn’t sure if you were, uh… if you were out, or something.  I guess I could have called,” Daichi is swaying slightly on his feet, and grips the door frame with his left hand, “I left my wallet at the bar.  Club— bar?  Club?  I’m not sure how to categorize it, we kept moving around, actually I can’t remember which place I left the wallet at, now that I really think about it.”  Daichi finally stops fidgeting, all of the sudden laser-focused on the fingernails of his right hand, examining them with unbridled awe on his face.

Drunk.  He is out-of-his-mind drunk.

Over Daichi’s shoulder, Oikawa can see a cab waiting on his curb, the car still running.

“Are you wearing a sleeping mask?” Daichi has snapped out of his fingernail-inspired reverie, now examining Oikawa with an amused smile.

“Just—” Oikawa blushes, before motioning at the cab driver to sit tight, “Just let me change my fucking clothes.”

  


“You know – _hic!_ – you could’ve just paid for the cab and sent me on my way.”

It was the quickest Daichi had ever seen Oikawa change his clothes.  The actor had thrown on some sweatpants and a t-shirt, grabbed his walletphonekeys, and guided the wasted Daichi home personally.  He even gave the cab driver an extra tip, and hadn’t said anything nasty about how small and cramped Daichi’s apartment was when they arrived.

“Shut up,” Oikawa snaps, rifling through Daichi’s drawers until he finds what looks like an appropriate pajama shirt, tossing it at the other man, “What if I had sent you back alone, and you had tripped on the curb and cracked your skull open?  What then, huh?”

“Well, then my mother would have gotten my life insurance money, I guess.”

Oikawa almost laughs, although the laugh quickly dies in this throat when he turns to see Daichi pulling off his shirt.  Apparently still regaining full motor functions, Daichi’s arms get tangled in his sleeves, and the shirt won’t come completely off.  Oikawa is helped to an astounding view of Daichi’s back muscles, which ripple enticingly as the man tries to wiggle out of his shirt.

“Can I, uh, can I get some help?”

A sigh, “Let me…” Oikawa walks around to Daichi’s front, and is suddenly grateful that the other boy can’t see how red his face has gotten.  It’s a natural reflex for your entire body temperature to rise when you see such a perfectly defined chest in real life, Oikawa tells himself.  Perfectly.  Natural.  Not. Weird.

With Oikawa pulling on the sleeves of Daichi’s shirt, they manage to get it off, and rather than put on the shirt Oikawa had thrown to him, Daichi just falls over onto his bed, face-first.

“Hey!” Oikawa protests, “You’re only half-changed, don’t fall asleep yet!”

“Too tired,” Daichi’s voice is muffled, “Too fuckin’ drunk.”

“Jeez,” Oikawa kneels next to the bed where Daichi’s legs are still hanging off, and begins unlacing his boots, “You’re supposed to be the responsible one, remember?”

Drunk Daichi, interest apparently peaked by the feeling of Oikawa’s fingers on his skin, turns over, so that he’s lying on his back, “Are you gonna undress me?”

“I’m— I’m just!” Oikawa’s face has not been any paler than tomato red the entire evening, and it appears that it is going to stay that way, “I’m just trying to help!  Don’t be gross!”

“Yeah, that’s your job,” Daichi laughs at his own joke.  The laugh quickly turns to an embarrassed, choked-off noise when he feels Oikawa’s hands unbuckling his belt, “Oikawa—”

“Hush,” Oikawa rolls his eyes, “I’m just being nice.”

They’re quiet, oddly tense, as Oikawa undoes Daichi’s belt, unzips his jeans, and starts pulling them down Daichi’s legs.  Daichi’s pupils are blown, like he’s been sitting in a dark room all day, and he swallows hard when he makes eye contact with Oikawa.  He notices, not for the first time, just how pink Oikawa’s lips are.  As they are now, slightly parted and wet with saliva, they make Daichi want to kiss him more than anything else in the world.

“Um—” the sheer thought shocks Daichi into movement, and his leg twitches out of Oikawa’s grasp, his jeans falling to the floor.  Lying there on his bed, clad only in his boxers and socks, Daichi can only think _since when do I want to kiss Oikawa?_

“You know, Dai-chan,” Oikawa, who had previously looked so bashful, is back to his usual slyness, walking his fingers up Daichi’s legs, “That cab fare was _awfully_ expensive.  Maybe you can… pay me back?  It’s fine if you don’t have money, you know.”  His hands are continuing up Daichi’s legs, and the man’s breath hitches in his throat when he feels one of Oikawa’s fingers slide under the hem of his boxers teasingly.

“I’m a virgin!” Daichi blurts out, heart hammering in his chest at the predatory look in Oikawa’s eyes.  More so at the notion that he wasn’t completely turned off by it.  Not even fucking close.

Oikawa pauses, fingers halted, before he bursts out into an awful high-pitched laugh, “That’s a lie and you know it!”

“I know!” Daichi squeaks out, “But I didn’t know what to say!”

Oikawa continues laughing, and his head bucks forward, making contact with Daich’s knees with a soft _thud!_  This, in turn, sends both boys into another wave of laughter, clutching their stomachs and struggling to catch their breath.

“D-Daichi,” Oikawa gasps out, finally gaining enough sentience to climb up into the bed, “You’re killing me.  You’re absolutely killing me.”

“And you said I was boring,” Daichi hiccups, wiping a mirthful tear from his eye.

“Oh, man,” Oikawa sighs, closing his eyes, “You know you’re not boring, right?  If anything, showing up piss drunk to my house at four in the morning certainly proved that.”

“Mm,” Daichi hums, “I think I’m finally sobering up a bit.”

“Good, Mr. Sober can go turn off the lights.”

And, responsible as always, Daichi actually does venture up to turn off the lights in his room.  He makes a stop in the kitchen, too, downing a bottle of water with a couple painkillers.  

When he returns to bed, Oikawa is already under the covers, halfway to drooling on one of Daichi’s pillows.  Gingerly, Daichi climbs into bed next to him, lying on his side so that he’s facing Oikawa.  It’s too tempting to watch the soft rise and fall of Oikawa’s chest, so Daichi closes his eyes.  But even with his eyes closed, it’s the same.  Just a bunch of drunk dizziness and an endless loop of Oikawa’s face, Oikawa’s eyes, Oikawa’s smile—

“I should leave mysteriously in the morning like you did to me.”

“... Huh?” Daichi cracks an eye open and sees Oikawa looking at him, wry smile on his face.

“Yeah, remember?  Our soul-bearing therapy session.  You stayed over but left in the middle of the night.”

“Oh,” Daichi’s voice is small, “I didn’t think about it… I just felt it would have been weird if I stayed.”

“Am I so awful to sleep next to?” Oikawa’s voice sounds small and far away, uncharacteristically fragile.

“Not at all,” Daichi says, “To be honest, I didn’t necessarily want to leave.”

_I wanted to wake up next to you,_ Daichi thinks.

From the look on Oikawa’s face – eyebrows knitted together, mouth open to voice a half-formed thought – Daichi isn’t quite sure that he didn’t say that last part out loud by accident.  He barely has time to consider it, before he closes his eyes and nods off to sleep.

  


(In the morning, Daichi isn’t sure why he’s so surprised to find that Oikawa has gone.  He’s more surprised to find that his wallet is on his counter, and that he has a text from Kuroo that reads _fancy meeting the one and only oikawa tooru when i swung by your place!!_

Daichi decides, finally, that it’s fine if he drinks the entire pot of coffee black.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when i was writing the last scene i was like "omg are they gonna f#ck?" as if i wasn't literally the person writing it and didn't know exactly what was going to happen. smh.


	3. what's the problem here?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> okay I lied this is 4 chapters bc I'm long-winded as hell

**“you are my blossom”** @tooruupdates  
ARTICLE: Oikawa Tooru delivers an unbeatable performance in summer smash hit ‘Dark Horse’ [LINK]

 **“you are my blossom”** @tooruupdates  
ARTICLE: Having conquered movie and modelling industries, Japanese star Oikawa Tooru takes on music. Can he break into international markets? [LINK]

 **TEMIIIIIII** @oiqwqs  
I finally saw dark horse!!!! It was actually so good, so many twists i didn’t see coming ∑(ﾟﾛﾟ〃)

 **mic** **∠** **(** **ᐛ** **」∠** **)** **＿** @micccrantz  
@oikqwqs HOW have i not seen it yet…… also no spoilers plz :(

 **TEMIIIIIII** @oiqwqs  
@micccrantz haha I won’t spoil! In the meantime i still have plenty of premiere pix to tweet *__*

♡ **ミカ** ♡ @bluesky299  
@oiqwqs You were there right? How was it in person?

 **TEMIIIIIII** @oiqwqs  
@bluesky299 SO GOOD Oikawa even waved at us, he was talking to Dai-kun and they were so cute I actually shed a tear

 **mic** **∠** **(** **ᐛ** **」∠** **)** **＿** @micccrantz  
@oiqwqs @bluesky299 not 2 b dramatic but that pic u have of them smiling at each other saved my life like nothing can touch me now

 **TEMIIIIIII** @oiqwqs  
@micccrantz @bluesky299 ajdkfsa it’s my phone bg its So Good. my lock screen is him blowing smoke in Dai-chan’s face LMAO

♡ **ミカ** ♡ @bluesky299  
@oiqwqs @micccrantz We are so blessed

 **TEMIIIIIII** @oiqwqs  
@bluesky299 @micccrantz BLESSED

 **mic** **∠** **(** **ᐛ** **」∠** **)** **＿** @micccrantz  
@oiqwqs @bluesky299 BLESSED

 **“you are my blossom”** @tooruupdates  
ARTICLE: Japan’s most eligible bachelor, single no more? An inside source tells us who Oikawa Tooru’s latest fling might be [LINK]

 

+

 

Sometimes, Oikawa tries to remember how he got into acting in the first place.  It had seemed to come naturally; he modelled and did small roles in adverts and commercials from a young age.  From there it just seemed to snowball.  It was nice, as Oikawa got a bit older, to be able to put money aside for his future, and feel like he was helping his parents.  

Even during middle school, when volleyball began to take up a large space in his life, Oikawa always knew he’d return to acting.

Although Oikawa acted steadily through his teenage years while being home schooled, it wasn’t until his big break as the co-lead in _The Grand King_ that he truly became a star.  Everything since then… well, he couldn’t say it was smooth sailing.  But there was certainly some wind in his sails.

The weeks after the _Dark Horse_ premiere are some of the brightest yet in Oikawa’s career.  His critically-acclaimed performance inspires new speculation about whether _The Last Kingdom_ ’s casting director was wrong to turn Oikawa away from a starring role.  New articles pop up every day about everything from Oikawa’s wardrobe to his dating life to his preferred coffee order.  Nekomata brings Oikawa into the studio for the first time, where he records an experimental clip of a new song, which is conveniently “leaked” on SNS, causing an implosion of excitement among his admirers, and more than a bit of curiosity from those outside his circle of fans.

In short, Oikawa Tooru is on top of the world.  And never before has he felt so restless.

Scheduling wise, things have slowed down quite a bit since the _Dark Horse_ premiere.  On the music front, the buzz for his upcoming transition into the music scene seems sufficient enough that Oikawa can actually take his time recording a premiere single.  Nekomata-san and the rest of his music team aren’t in any rush.

Somehow, this makes Oikawa more nervous than ever before about his new little foray.  Shouldn’t they be eager to get his music out there?  Shouldn’t he strike while the iron is hot, while the anticipation is still so great?  There are too many unfamiliar variables for Oikawa, too much uncertainty.

And this is how Oikawa finds himself in the gym during any and all of his free time.  It’s a semi-private gym, reserved for the other wealthy and/or famous tenants in Oikawa’s condo building.  It doesn’t get much use, honestly, and Oikawa is alone more often than not.

Particularly so now, at nearly 2 o’clock in the morning.  Oikawa has been working out on-and-off for nearly four hours, taking breaks to scroll through Twitter or respond to emails, walking languidly on the treadmill when he begins to feel a bit tired, switching back to weightlifting when he needs to feel the strain in his muscles.  

If he keeps moving, he imagines, then no one can touch him.  No one can bring him back to Earth, nothing can bog him down or bury him.  Because sometimes, suddenly, it will feel like his entire body is covering in ants, and like he has to keep moving, moving, moving, lest he be devoured completely.

So, Oikawa keeps going.  As if it were possible to sweat out all the excess thoughts in his head.  As if it were possible to strengthen his resolve the same way one strengthens a muscle.

Kindaichi has already come and gone, face pallid with concern.  So, too, has Iwaizumi visited, and then left in a huff.   _You’re supposed to tell me when it gets this bad,_ he had said.  Oikawa had pretended to not know what he meant, and finally Iwaizumi had left, cursing him.

Finally, Oikawa had been alone.

“And you call _me_ boring.”

Oikawa, nearly delirious with sleeplessness, twitches and drops the dumbbell he had been holding.  It bounces harmlessly on the gym’s rubber flooring.

“Fuck, Daichi, you can’t sneak up on a guy holding a ten-kilo weight,” Oikawa frowns, picking up the offending weight and re-racking it.

Daichi is perched on one of the gym’s benches, looking like he’s been there for at least fifteen minutes or so.  His face is impassive, “It’s weird for your schedule to be so light.”

“I requested it.  Can’t a guy get some time off?”

“Sure,” Daichi shrugs, “But you don’t really look like you’re enjoying yourself.”

A small chiming sound comes from Daichi’s pocket, one Oikawa recognizes as his text tone.  Somehow, instantly, he knows it’s from Iwaizumi.

Oikawa sighs, reaching for a towel to wipe the sweat from his face, and then grabs his sweatshirt from the bench, “C’mon, it smells like sweat in here.”

Daichi follows him out to a large balcony adjacent to the gym.  Sometimes Oikawa has seen yoga classes or meditation sessions out here, but right now it’s abandoned and quiet.  Or, as quiet as any balcony in Tokyo can possibly be.  Oikawa makes a beeline for the railing, leaning against it and pulling a pack of cigarettes and his lighter out of his sweatshirt pocket, “You want one?”

“No.  Are you even allowed to smoke out here?” Daichi ask, maybe forgetting for a second that when you’re rich and famous you’re pretty much allowed to do whatever you’d like, “I thought you hated smoking.”

“Yeah, but if I smoke you won’t ask me why I’m not saying anything.”

Daichi reaches out to grab the lighter in Oikawa’s hand, already lifted halfway to his cigarette.  He covers Oikawa’s hand in his own, noting not for the first time just how massive Oikawa’s hands actually are, how long and slender his fingers, looking delicate but feeling strong.  Daichi pulls the lighter out of Oikawa’s hands.  His lighter confiscated, Oikawa’s cigarette sits unlit between his lips.

“You don’t need an excuse around me,” Daichi says, pocketing the lighter, “You know that.”

“I know that,” Oikawa snaps, in the tone of a man who definitely did _not_ know that.  He tosses the unlit cigarette off the balcony, and sniffs, his nose runny in the crisp night air.

Surely, Iwaizumi will have told Daichi that Oikawa can be like this.  That he can become all-consumed by uncertainty, by a desire just to do good, to _be_ good.  There is only so much Oikawa can do to perfect his craft, and certainly only so much he can do alone in the middle of the night when he can’t sleep.  Too many times has Iwaizumi had to come drag Oikawa away from the television, where he would watch movie after movie after movie until his eyes were bloodshot; or had to pull him out of the gym, physically supporting him after he had pushed himself too far.  Too many times when Oikawa just wasn’t sure how to say _when_.

“Hey, remember when you went to audition for that movie?   _The Last Kingdom_?”

Daichi’s questions surprises Oikawa, “Yes, thank you for reminding me of my most recent failure, Dai-chan.”

But Daichi just laughs, “You told me you never get nervous, and I actually believed you.  But you do get nervous, just like anyone else.”

“Says who?”

“Says me.  Back then, I remember I thought, ‘man what a monster.’  But you’re just human, after all.”

 _Just human after all._  Oikawa wonders why he’s simultaneously disgusted and comforted at the thought.  He always wanted to stand out, for more than just good looks or lucky breaks.  He was always looking for new ways to do so.  But maybe, finally, he is nervous.

“I mean,” Daichi continues, right as Oikawa goes to open his mouth, “You’re still ridiculous.  And you have basically no self-preservation instinct, which means I spend almost all my time away from you wondering if you’re dead in a ditch somewhere.”

The idea of Daichi, at home alone, wondering ceaselessly about where Oikawa is, what he’s doing, if he’s safe – it makes Oikawa swallow hard, and he plays with the sleeve of his sweatshirt, avoiding looking at the way Daichi is examining him with a familiar knowing smile on his face.  

“I’ll be sure to check in with you before I get murdered.”

Daichi hums, leaning against the railing, folding his arms so he can lean down and rest his chin on his forearms, “I mean, it’s fine.  You don’t have a self-preservation instinct, but you do have me.”

“Ah, well,” Oikawa clears his throat to disguise the hitch in his breath, “That is your job, after all!”

“Sure.  But I’d do it even if it wasn’t my job.”

For once, Daichi isn’t looking over with that all-knowing look in his eye.  Instead, his eyes are fixed out on the tangle of lights and buildings and cars rushing by.  He looks smaller than usual, hunched over like this.  It’s rare to see Daichi out of his usual protective stance, but Oikawa has been seeing more and of it lately.  He likes this Daichi; the normal, vulnerable Daichi.  It feels to Oikawa a lot like getting to the really interesting part of a novel - it only makes him want to read more.

“Well, this is no fair,” Oikawa hums, draping himself along the balcony railing, letting his fingers hang down toward the street below, “Why are you always the cool one, huh?  Next time I say _you_ have the emotional crisis and _I’ll_ be the cool, dashing one, okay?”

The corner of Daichi’s mouth twitches up and he lets out a long sigh, like he’d been holding his breath, “Sounds like a plan to me.”

Daichi stretches out and lets his left arm hang off the balcony, resting next to Oikawa’s.  For a while they just stay there, fingers brushing against one another’s, saying nothing at all.

 

+

 

 **the best night of your life:** hellooooo oikawa-san  
**Oikawa:** …….. who is this  
**Oikawa:** why are you saved in my phone as ‘the best night of your life’??  
**the best night of your life:** oikawa, I’m hurt that you wouldnt remember me  
**the best night of your life:** we shared so many special moments  
**the best night of your life:** and i gave you that mind blowing bj  
**Oikawa:** ha! now I know you’re lying  
**Oikawa:** who is this?  
**the best night of your life:** ahhhhhhh bit of a dry spell huh? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)  
**Oikawa:** wait no  
**Oikawa:** I didn’t  
**the best night of your life:** ahaha oikawa you can dish it but you really cant take it  
**the best night of your life:** this is kuroo we met rly quick at sawamura’s a couple weeks ago  
**Oikawa:** when did you save your number in my phone?  
**the best night of your life:** dont worry about it  
**the best night of your life:** you should change your passcode though  
**Oikawa:** you’re not exactly endearing yourself to me here btw  
**the best night of your life:** i think ill live  
**the best night of your life:** but since were lablemates and all now i say we should become acquainted  
**Oikawa:** pass!  
**the best night of your life:** so harsh. dai-chan wouldnt like to hear that you know  
**Oikawa:** (￢_￢)  
**the best night of your life:** kidding!  
**the best night of your life:** i just wanna hang a bit. we didnt get to talk much when we met  
**Oikawa:** fine.  
**Oikawa:** but only because I have some shopping to do and I suppose it wouldn’t kill me to have company  
**the best night of your life:** so kind and benevolent… this must be the gentle spirit of oikawa tooru that the legends foretold…  
**Oikawa:** that’s right! ☆ ～('▽^人)  
**the best night of your life:** instant regret

 

+

 

As it turns out, Oikawa really wasn’t kidding about having some shopping to do.  By the time Kuroo meets up with him, the actor already has an armful of shopping bags, filled with contents that have got to cost more than Kuroo’s current entire net worth.  Oikawa’s dressed in a way that Kuroo guesses is supposed to be incognito: boots, black jeans, a thin, oversized green sweatshirt, sunglasses, and a black face mask, currently pulled down and tucked under his chin.  The trademark swoop of his chestnut brown hair, however, remains intact and in full force.

It’s strange to see Oikawa so alone, Kuroo thinks, absent any security guards or swooning fans.  They make polite small talk and head around to a few stores.  It becomes apparent that Oikawa’s had his PA call ahead and inform the stores he’s coming, because each one is conspicuously empty as Oikawa and Kuroo arrive.

For the most part, the pair don’t talk much, other than Oikawa asking Kuroo’s opinion on a jacket or a bag or a necklace, or saying _at least make yourself useful, alright?_ and then bogging Kuroo down with half a dozen shopping bags.

For a couple years now, Kuroo has been adjusting to the kind of treatment near-fame will get you.  Even if COWL is nowhere near true _fame_ yet – they haven’t even released a full album, after all – Kuroo knows what it’s like to be treated unusually well at stores and restaurants, or to be noticed on the street.  (Bokuto, with his trademark hairstyle, gets called out far more often, usually by fans of their erstwhile boy band days.)

Still, nothing prepares Kuroo to see just how much each and every shop attendant prostrates themselves in front of Oikawa like so many loyal servants.  It’s almost obscene.  Oikawa, though, is quite kind, asking questions politely and tipping generously.

By the time they exit the fourth shop, Kuroo finally asks, “Who are you shopping for anyway?”

“My birthday is coming up!”

“So… you’re shopping for yourself.”

“No.  Well, a couple things,” Oikawa concedes, “But no.  It’s stuff for my family, I always get them presents on my birthday.”

Kuroo raises an eyebrow, “Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around?”

Oikawa stops in front of a jewelry store and peers at the window displays, “I always do this.  Well, not _always_.  I started doing it after my first big movie.”

Apparently deciding that the jewelry on display is not up to snuff, Oikawa keeps walking, and Kuroo scrambles to keep up, matching Oikawa’s strides with his own long legs, “That’s, uh.  You… you’re alright, you know that?”

Oikawa looks at Kuroo skeptically, though the corner of his mouth ticks upward a bit, “Thank you for your approval, I’ve been absolutely _aching_ for it.”

Kuroo ignores the sarcasm, “You’re quite welcome.  I’ve got to look out for people scheming around my old pal Sawamura, since he and I go way back.”

“So that’s what this is about,” Oikawa deadpans, all the demure politeness from earlier in the day gone from his voice.  They round the corner and Oikawa makes a beeline for a black sedan that Kuroo guesses must be his driver.

“Well, this has been fun, but I really should go,” Oikawa turns quickly on his heel and flashes Kuroo a smirk that looks more like a sneer, gathering his extra shopping bags from Kuroo’s hands, “Actually, I can’t really say this was fun but I didn’t kill myself, so I guess there’s that.”

“Wh— wait,” Kuroo snatches at one of the bag’s handles, and it pulls taut between him and Oikawa, “We didn’t even talk!  We should talk!”

“Why on earth?” Oikawa snatches the bag easily; Kuroo makes a mental note that Oikawa is much stronger than he looks.  The driver approaches them and bows, beginning to load the car up with the many purchases from the day, and Oikawa turns to leave with a small wave.

“Hey, no,” Kuroo makes a leap for the car door, climbing into the backseat and looking at a dumbfounded Oikawa expectantly, “At least give me a ride, yeah?”

 “What is your problem?” Oikawa gapes, “Are you for real spying on me?”

“No.  Yes.  Kind of.  I’m scoping you out.”

“Well, stop it, I don’t like it!”

“No way.”

“Yes way!”

“Oikawa-san…” the driver clears his throat, apparently anticipating a problem.  But to Kuroo’s surprise, Oikawa just waves him away and settles in next to Kuroo with a huff.

Kuroo gives the driver his address, and then turns to Oikawa as the car starts, “I thought you were supposed to be charming or something.  You’re much surlier than I would have imagined.”

“Surly?”

“I didn’t wanna say bitchy.”

“Tch…” Oikawa rolls his eyes, “Well you’ve got your coveted one-on-one time with the amazing Oikawa Tooru.  So what do you want?”

“I’m not sure,” Kuroo says, honest, “I didn’t think I’d get this far.”

Oikawa whips off his sunglasses and wipes a hand down his face, “Why does Daichi have such useless friends…”

Hearing Daichi’s name helps Kuroo find his words, “What is Sawamura to you?”

“He’s my bodyguard,” Oikawa answers quickly.  And then, after a small pause, “He’s my friend.”

“You two are close,” Kuroo prompts, “It’s unusual.  I’ve never seen a relationship like it.”

“So?” Oikawa snaps, face pinched.

Back when he was still in college and Daichi was first starting in close protection, Kuroo remembers Daichi talking about how important distance was for a bodyguard.  It sounded oxymoronic – shouldn’t a bodyguard be as close to their protectee as possible? – but the more Daichi explained the more it made sense.  You had to exist on the precipice between your client’s personal life and their public persona, and it was a very thin line to walk.

When Kuroo had stopped by Daichi’s apartment that morning to drop off his wallet, it was alarming to see Oikawa there.  Not because it was unusual for the two of them to be friends, but because Oikawa seemed to fit so perfectly, not even a bit out-of-place in Daichi’s dingy apartment.  Kuroo had watched him like one would observe an animal in the wild: Oikawa lingered in the kitchen, opening and closing every cabinet and drawer, like he was trying to catalogue every detail, just in case he might need it in the future.  He left a glass of water and two painkillers on Sawamura’s side table for when he woke up.  He fluffed every pillow on the couch so they looked _just_ right.  It was all a bit too tender, a bit too affectionate.

“Oikawa, look… were you close with your last bodyguard?”

“Yes.  He was with me for years.”

“I mean,” Kuroo groans.  Why now of all times does Oikawa choose to be willfully obtuse?  “I mean, were you sleep-in-the-same-bed-wake-up-next-to-each-other close with him?”

“I—” Oikawa opens his mouth and then immediately clamps it shut, scarlet blooming on his cheeks, “What on Earth is that supposed to mean?”

Kuroo shrugs because, really, he’s not quite sure.  It could mean a lot of things, good and bad, “All I know is Sawamura doesn’t have an easy job.  I mean, not only are you a certifiable nightmare,” at this, Oikawa scoffs, “But he has to keep a cool head all the time.  And if someone you really care about is in danger, how do you do what’s best for them and not just fuckin’ deck the other guy instead?  I couldn’t do it.”

“Daichi can handle himself,” Oikawa sniffs, sounding more fond than proud, “He’s not the kind to go punching strangers that look at me wrong.”

When Kuroo doesn’t respond, he continues, sounding more agitated this time, “And, besides, what would I even do about that?  I’m not going to _fire_ him just because I like him!”

Kuroo’s lips curl up into a smirk, and he raises his eyebrows at Oikawa, “Oh, so you _like_ him, huh?  You _love_ Dai-chan, huh?  _Huh?_ ”

“What are you, five years old?” Oikawa squeaks, voice going up at least three octaves, “Are we near your neighborhood yet?  Can I finally be rid of you?”

“Never ever,” Kuroo grins.  And then, rather than continue teasing Oikawa, he decides to be benevolent and change the subject, “Hey, Bokuto and I are having our mini-album launch party this weekend, you should come.”

“Let me guess, you want me to come so you can bill it as an amazing A-list even, right?”

“Damn, you’re cold,” the car slows down as they pull up outside Kuroo’s building, “You should come anyway, and bring Sawamura.  Just the two of you, let loose, have some fun.”

“I’m always _loose_ _!_ ” Oikawa hisses, his insistence clearly belied by the rigidness in his shoulders, “See if I come to your lame party after you bothered me all afternoon!”

They’ve arrived, likely to Oikawa’s relief, and Kuroo climbs out of the car, “See you Friday!” he yells out, slamming the door shut before Oikawa can respond.

 

+

 

“Yeah, that’s about as good as it’s ever going to get.”

Something in the tone of Kunimi’s voice tells Oikawa that he is not pleased to be making a house call at 9 o’clock on a Friday night.  They’ve been cycling through outfits all afternoon, and Oikawa feels just as unsatisfied with the current one as he was with the last twenty-seven.

“But does it have, like, a certain _je ne sais quoi_ _?_ Do you know what I mean?”

“Considering that _je ne sais quoi_ literally means ‘I don’t know what,’ I’m going to go ahead and say that _I don’t know_ ,” Kunimi is massaging the bridge of his nose, “You know I literally had plans tonight, right?”

“Hush, it’s still early,” Oikawa pulls off his shirt, tossing it at Kunimi.

“Don’t you have a stylist?” Daichi appears in the doorway of Oikawa’s massive closet, leaning against the door frame and giving Kunimi a sympathetic smile.

“Yeah, call Tendou.”

“No way, I like to limit my contact with that freak,” Oikawa waves his hand absentmindedly, “Besides, I want to wear something simple tonight.”

“Might be the first time you ever have,” Kunimi mutters.

Despite at least forty-eight hours’ worth of protesting, it had been surprisingly easy to finally get Oikawa to cave and agree to attend the COWL album launch party.  Daichi had simply said _it would mean a lot to me if you’d come_ , and Oikawa was like putty in his hands, calling Kindaichi to move his Saturday meetings around and insisting that Kunimi come by to help style him correctly.  (He had also asked Kindaichi to call a few paparazzi, so they’d know where Oikawa was going tonight; no reason to let a good outfit go to waste.)

The issue is that all of the clothes in Oikawa’s closet suddenly seem too garish and flamboyant.  They hadn’t seemed that way at first, but after Daichi arrived at Oikawa’s condo, somehow managing to make jeans and a simple black v-neck look absolutely mouth-wateringly attractive, Oikawa had started to reconsider his outfit choices.

“I should tell you that Bokuto and Kuroo are notoriously bad dressers, so don’t feel like you need to impress anyone,” Daichi says, watching Oikawa pluck through a pile of button-downs huffily, “I’ve been Snapchatting them and I can confirm that Bokuto is wearing at least seven feather boas.”

“You told me you didn’t have Snapchat!” Oikawa says, offended.

“Sawamura-san is pretty boring on Snapchat,” Kunimi says, tossing a pair of pants at Oikawa, “Mostly just gym selfies.”  The way he says it, miniscule smirk on his face, Oikawa _knows_ that Kunimi is aware of just how completely _not_ boring Daichi’s gym selfies are.

It’s another thirty minutes before Oikawa settles on an outfit – dark wash denim skinny jeans and a black button-down with floral-printed sleeves – and Kunimi does a quick makeup and hair job on him, not bothering to apologize when he gets hairspray in Oikawa’s eyes.

In the car, Oikawa feels nervous and he can hardly understand why.  He makes conversation with Daichi about some new weight lifting regiment he and Iwaizumi are trying, and when they settle into silence it’s comfortable and familiar.  Everything feels the same as it always has, save for the fact that tonight, in this moment, they’re not heading to some club opening as Oikawa the Movie Star and Daichi the Bodyguard.  Tonight, neither of them are working; they’re just Oikawa and Daichi, full stop.  

Suddenly, Oikawa isn’t sure how to act.

“Oh, shit,” when the car pulls up outside the club and Oikawa goes to step out, he’s greeted with way more flashing lights than he was prepared for, “I forgot I called so many of them.”

Daichi comes around from the other side of the car, and just shrugs at the sight of so many photographers calling out to Oikawa, “You’re irresistible, it would seem.”

“Shut up,” Oikawa’s face goes red, and he can’t figure out if it’s from the teasing tone of Daichi’s voice, or the presence of his hand on the small of Oikawa’s back, warm, heavy, and reassuring as he guides them toward the entrance.

It’s as quick as flicking a switch, how Oikawa can go from mildly embarrassed to cheeky and cheerful as ever, and he takes a moment to flash a couple victory signs at the cameras and pose for pictures with fans.  Daichi stays close, body heat radiating in a way that Oikawa can only describe as supremely distracting.

“Um, is it okay if I get a picture of the two of you together?”

An eager-looking girl with a thick camera strap around her neck is gesturing between Oikawa and Daichi, looking hopeful.  The request startles a laugh out of Daichi, and he barely has time to respond before Oikawa is slinging an arm around his neck and saying _,_ “But of course you can!  Although, I’ll warn you that Dai-chan is not very photogenic.”

“You are so rude,” Daichi says, wrapping an arm around the other man’s waist, fingers squeezing playfully at the small fleshy bit at the curve of Oikawa’s waist.  The camera goes off while Daichi is still talking, face curved up toward Oikawa’s, lips curling in a smile.  He goes to face the camera, but the girl and her friends are already chattering excitedly, looking at the preview of the photo on the camera’s digital screen.  They continuing lambasting Oikawa and Daichi with compliments as Oikawa signs a few more phone cases for them.  This might be the first time Daichi has actually interacted with Oikawa’s fans outside of warning glances and gentle nudges as he moves Oikawa through crowds.  It is… surprisingly pleasant.

Finally, Oikawa bids the group of girls adieu, waving his fingers as Daichi’s hand returns to his lower back, guiding him inside the club.

“If only they could all be so cute,” Oikawa sighs wistfully.

Before they head inside, Daichi looks back, watching the girls snap pictures with their phones and coo excitedly.  When they notice Daichi’s eyes on them, they wave eagerly, faces red with what might be embarrassment at being caught, or perhaps just happiness.  And rather than feeling uncomfortable with their eyes on him, Daichi feels oddly happy.

“If only.”

 

 

Inside, the club is exactly as loud as any party hosted by Bokuto and Kuroo could be expected to be.

The excitable pair are standing on a small stage at the end of the dance floor, waving and cheering and thanking everyone profusely for their support.  Bokuto and Kuroo introduce an exclusive first listen to their second single, and the DJ manages to turn the volume up even louder, if that were at all possible.

Bokuto is in rare form, the mere sound of his voice large enough to fill the entire room, even with music blasting and a hundred other conversations going on.  He is indeed wearing a plethora of feather boas in various colors.  For his part, Kuroo is a bit more subdued, although he is sporting a pretty aggressive amount of eyeliner that Daichi makes a mental note to tease him about later.

Daichi grabs a couple beers for himself and Oikawa at the bar, and is unsurprised to see Oikawa engaged in conversation with at least half a dozen people when he returns.

“Ah, Daichi!”

But Oikawa perks up instantly when he sees Daichi headed his way, and reaches a hand out to tug him through the small crowd, so that they can stand right next to each other, close enough that their arms brush with every movement.

“It’s, ah, um.  Beer.  For you,” Daichi says dumbly, struck for some reason by the small smile Oikawa gives him, not quite fully unarmed, but nothing like the ersatz grins he displays for nearly everyone else around him.  Something catches in Daichi’s throat.  He pretends not to notice it.

Daichi also pretends not to notice the subtle way Oikawa is leaning against him, or the way he wraps an arm around Daichi’s shoulder as he speaks, or how he introduces him to his acquaintances simply as “Daichi” – not “Sawamura Daichi, my personal bodyguard.”  Just “Daichi.”

This is the first time Daichi has spent time out in public with Oikawa as anything other than just his bodyguard.  They may have spent time together privately as friends, but never in public.  Suddenly, the concept of being known to Oikawa’s friends and colleagues as anything _other_ than just a bodyguard causes anxiety and anticipation to bloom in Daichi’s chest.

“I’m just gonna,” Daichi leans up to whisper in Oikawa’s ear as they listen to Oikawa’s friend say something assuredly insightful about the benefits of kale, “I’m gonna find Bokuto and Kuroo, say hello.”

Oikawa just nods, eyebrows furrowed a bit.  Daichi feels simultaneously relieved and regretful as he leaves the warmth of Oikawa’s side.

 

 

“You and Oikawa are cute, aren’t you?”

“And you and Bokuto certainly aren’t,” Daichi raises his eyebrows at the remark, and decides to ignore the lewd hand gestures Kuroo is making.

Bokuto and Kuroo, by the time Daichi finds them, are already firmly drunk, looking like they’re having the time of their lives, surrounded by an ocean of admirers even in the slightly thinned crowd of the second-floor VIP section.

“The lifted up a _velvet rope_ for us to get in here,” Bokuto says, voice hushed, before swiftly escalating in volume, “ _A velvet rope!!_ ”

“The height of luxury, I’m sure.”

Kuroo slings an arm around Daichi’s shoulders, “You’ve been spoiled by Oikawa, huh?  So un-fascinated with the everyday glamours that are only now revealing themselves to me and Bokuto.”

“I’m not sure ‘un-fascinated’ is a word.”

“I’m famous now, I get to decide what’s a word and what’s not a word!”

Kuroo, always extra wordy when intoxicated, invents several more words throughout the course of the night. So too does Bokuto, mostly without realizing it; as he gets progressively drunker he starts mashing words together incoherently.  By the time midnight rolls around the two of them are conversing in a language all their own.  

(Daichi has to pause and appreciate just how much he’s missed spending time with them.)

Daichi doesn’t _dance_ per se, but he can be coerced into moving rhythmically.  Eventually, that’s just what Bokuto and Kuroo persuade him to do, grinding on him, sweaty and enthusiastic, before leaving him in the middle of the dance floor when the well-known pop star Tsukishima Kei catches their attention.

Daichi startles when Oikawa sneaks up behind him, winding lanky arms around his neck and resting his chin on Daichi’s shoulder, “You look lonely, Dai-chan!”

“Oh, you know,” Daichi says, reaching up to hook his hands on Oikawa’s forearms, “I’m at a loss without you to act as my cicerone.”

“What the… fuck is a cicerone.”

Daichi laughs, and even though he’s not facing Oikawa, he can imagine the kind of face the actor is pulling, “I’m not too sure, I heard Kuroo say it earlier.”

“Pfft,” Oikawa blows a puff of air in Daichi’s ear, and Daichi hopes Oikawa doesn’t notice how it makes him shiver involuntarily, “Kuroo is a freak.”

“I’ll agree with you on that.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Daichi knows he and Oikawa must look ridiculous.  They’re standing in the middle of a crowded, sweaty dancefloor, Oikawa clutching him from behind, the two of them just swaying slightly, a far cry from the dirty gyrating and frantic dance movements of the partygoers surrounding them.  They absolutely look ridiculous, and Daichi should probably do something about it.

(Eventually, they’ll separate, and Oikawa will tease Daichi just enough to get him to dance, and Daichi will enjoy the way Oikawa’s expansive hand feels gripping tight at his hip, and he’ll savor the sensation of Oikawa’s stomach muscles flexing against him as they dance, and it will all be very breathless and blistering and blissful.)

For now, however, Daichi just lets Oikawa hold on to him, enjoying the feeling of having him close.

 

+

 

When it happens, it happens all at once.

There’s no sign of the party winding down anytime soon, even as the clock approaches three in the morning.  Bokuto and Kuroo are both still making the rounds, the drinks are still flowing, and as some partygoers finally leave for home, even more seem to take their place.

Maybe that’s where the trouble starts, as the official hours of the launch party end, and random partiers and tourists start flooding into the place.  This must be one of the only clubs still open at this time of night, and some of the newcomers are nearly blackout drunk, nearing the end of what must be a long, _long_ night of drinking and who knows what else.

“Hey, pretty boy!  Over here!”

Daichi looks away from Oikawa for one second -- one _second_ , he thinks bitterly to himself – and when he turns back the actor is being accosted by two tall men, both of them obviously intoxicated.  They’re speaking in English, and Daichi can’t parse all of what they’re saying – he’s only got some conversational English – but he knows Oikawa is fluent, and the look on his face tells Daichi that there are no kind intentions in these strangers’ words.

He may not technically be on the job, but Daichi moves swiftly, pulling to Oikawa’s side like a magnet, “Everything okay here?” He says, voice calm and steady.

“Whatever,” Oikawa says, shrugging off Daichi’s hand from where it had circled around his forearm, “Don’t bother with these jack-offs.”

“Don’t be that way,” the taller of the foreign men says, adding something else that Daichi can’t understand.  Their English is thick with some accent he can’t place.

Oikawa seems to have no problem understanding them, shooting back a string of curses in English.  Daichi places himself in between Oikawa and the foreigners, gently pressing them apart, but Oikawa is fervent, winding a long arm across Daichi’s chest to prod a finger against the taller man’s chest.  The man snarls, rubbing his chest with an offended look.

It’s loud.  Too loud, Daichi knows, to make real heads or tails of what Oikawa and the men are arguing about.  The music is still blasting (-- _ggots like you should feel lucky_ , the shorter stranger says in English _)_ and there are still at least two dozen people within a ten-foot radius of where they stand ( _you should show us a good time_ ) and this is the exact kind of terrible, chaotic environment Ukai had warned him about a million times.  This is the exact scenario Daichi used to have nightmares about, when he was first on the job, still getting his sea legs.

“You make me sick,” Oikawa spits out in English, follows that up by literally spitting in the face of the taller stranger, who howls in outrage.

Daichi takes the opportunity to pull Oikawa away, making a path through the small crowd that has gathered around them.  One of the foreigners makes a move toward them, but Daichi holds his arm up, pinning the man with a glare, his body language sending a message as clear as day: _if you take one step closer, you’ll be out cold before your body hits the floor._

This, Daichi thinks absentmindedly, must be what it feels like when you finally _do_ get your sea legs.  When you finally can de-escalate a scenario that used to give you nightmares.

“Hey, okay?” Daichi finally turns his back on the foreigners, looking up at Oikawa and rubbing his hands soothingly up and down the other man’s arms.  Oikawa nods, eyes glassy, “Let’s get out of here, yeah?”

But it was a mistake to turn his back on the strangers – Daichi feels an elbow catch him in his back, and he pitches forward, falling into Oikawa’s chest.  There’s a shout in English, some words Daichi can’t catch, but he knows they’re directed at him.

In a flash, Oikawa is scrambling past Daichi, shouting something back in English, clenching his right hand into a tight fist, aiming it at the scowling face of the shorter of the two men and—

—and the first goes sailing past the man’s face, a testament to Oikawa’s truly poor aim.

As Oikawa’s hand goes sailing past the shorter man’s face, it instead finds purchase on the throat of the taller man, who splutters indignantly and clutches at his neck like he’s just been shot.

A testament to Oikawa’s truly fortuitous good luck.

Oikawa turns back to Daichi with a grimace on his face, frantically grasping for the other man’s hand, gripping it so tightly Daichi starts losing feeling his fingertips.

“Yeah, let’s get out of here.”

 

If literally missing his intended target wasn’t already a good enough indication that Oikawa has never thrown a punch before, his sprained and swollen thumb certainly is.

“You’re supposed to keep your thumb outside of your fist,” Daichi mumbles, holding the offending hand his own.  He hasn’t looked up at Oikawa once since they exited the club and entered the limo waiting outside.  He can’t, not yet.  All he can do is cradle Oikawa’s hand in his own, marveling at the reddened skin.

“I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry, Daichi,” Oikawa mumbles, very different from the smartass response Daichi had been bracing himself for, “I couldn’t— I couldn’t let them… when they said that about you, and I know it was stupid—”

“What did they say about me?” Daichi’s head snaps up, eyes finally meeting Oikawa’s, “Wait, I don’t want to know, I don’t care.  It wasn’t…  It was—”

“It was my fault.”

“—my fault.”

Wait.

“I was the one who decided arguing with two drunk, homophobic Australians was a good idea!” Oikawa says, somehow managing to be offended by the idea that he did nothing wrong.

“Yeah, well,” Daichi stutters, “I’m the one who’s supposed to be protecting you!”

“You did!  And you weren’t even working tonight!”

“I’m still supposed to protect you!” Daichi says, hating the way his voice breaks on the last syllable.  Why is he so emotional about a drunken mishap?  He keeps thinking about Ukai’s advice, and how pertinent it had always seemed in relation to Oikawa – _you can’t protect someone who doesn’t want to be protected._  Now, all of the sudden, those words, and the idea that he could ever _not_ protect Oikawa, that he could ever keep a cool head with Oikawa involved, it seems completely incomprehensible to him.

_Oh no._

“Don’t get squeamish on me, Dai-chan,” Oikawa lilts, “You look like you’re about to be sick.”

It’s true, Daichi does feel like he’s about to hurl.  Not because of the few beers settling sour in his stomach, or because the punch has busted open a cut on the skin between Oikawa’s thumb and forefinger, or because the car keeps lurching every time they stop at a light.

Daichi feels sick because it hits him, all at once, how much he cares about Oikawa. It’s less like a punch to the gut and more like he’s being steamrolled, entire body taut with sheer _need_.  He’s a building razed, and the wrecking ball pummeling him is just the pure knowledge that, in this moment, he’s never wanted anything as badly as he wants Oikawa.

And so the kiss is quite a simple decision, as far as Daichi is concerned.  It takes almost nothing out of him to surge forward and capture Oikawa’s lips in an (admittedly clumsy) kiss.  The noise when Daichi separates from Oikawa’s mouth is an unattractive _smack!_ , but he barely pauses before moving his right hand to adjust Oikawa’s jaw, pressing again softly against the other man’s bottom lip, a gentle sequel.

Oikawa seems to melt like butter against him – slow and salty and sweet all at once.  The tension in his shoulders instantly releases, and he grabs at the front of Daichi’s shirt with his uninjured hand, fingers trembling. They kiss once, twice, a third time.  Slow, soft, chaste kisses that belie just how much the contact is driving Daichi crazy, how it’s completely clouding his mind.

Daichi rubs his thumb at the hinge of Oikawa’s jaw and the boy’s mouth drops open instantly, allowing Daichi to lick inside, tasting Oikawa’s tongue with his own.  It’s completely unsurprising to him that Oikawa is a biter, and Daichi hardly protests when Oikawa nips insistently at his bottom lip.

The mood in the back of the limo changes the instant Oikawa bites down _hard_ on Daichi’s lip, nearly enough to draw blood.  Oikawa moves his injured hand out from between them and pulls again at Daichi’s shirt, until the shorter man is straddling his lap.

“Oh, okay,” Daichi smiles down, astonished at the way he can now feel every rise and fall of Oikawa’s chest, every hitch in his breath.

“You’re hard.”

Oikawa says it very matter-of-factly, and Daichi panics for a second because he _can’t_ be hard, not _already_.  It’s been literally three minutes of some semi-chaste kissing, and he’s far past his teenage years when he could get hard at the drop of a hat.  He’s maybe half-hard.  At best.

“Oh, no I mean—” Oikawa giggles ( _Giggles!_ Daichi thinks), and uses his good hand to grip at Daichi’s thigh.  Oikawa’s hands aren’t small by any means, but they’re still dwarfed by the size of Daichi’s thighs, “I mean you’re very, uh, solid?  Muscly, and such, or whatever.  I guess I should have expected it but… I don’t know, it caught me off guard.”

He’s rambling, blush spreading out across his face, and Daichi takes pity on him, “And is that a bad thing?”

“No!” Oikawa answers eagerly, “No, I… like it.”

“You’re not bad, yourself,” Daichi teases, slowly unbuttoning Oikawa’s shirt, mentally taking in every inch of smooth, pale skin.  He wants remember every sliver of skin, every small, soft noise Oikawa makes as Daichi trails a hand down his chest, every shudder and shiver as they absentmindedly grind against each other.  

Daichi lowers his mouth against Oikawa’s, their lips reconnected in a new kiss, messier this time, more urgent.  He’s pawing at every available inch of Oikawa’s skin, aching to leave an impression on him, somehow, in any way possible.  Oikawa’s fingers are shaking when he brings his left hand up to tangle in the close-cropped hair at nape of Daichi’s neck, rubbing softly, gently.  The sheer disconnect between that and the desperate way Oikawa bites at Daichi’s mouth, lips wet and swollen – it’s almost enough to make Daichi’s brain short-circuit.

They break apart, faces red, breath shallow, lips swollen, and Oikawa immediately attaches his mouth to the hollow of Daichi’s neck, sucking a red spot there before trailing kisses along his collarbone.  Daichi tips his head back, suddenly shivering and vulnerable under Oikawa’s ministrations.

 _Vulnerable_.  The word sticks in Daichi’s mind.

They’re vulnerable, the both of them.  Dutifully, Daichi realizes that the car has stopped, and he has no idea where they are.  They must be at his apartment, but had that much time passed already?  The partition is up, but he’s unsure if the driver is on the other side, or if he’s outside, waiting patiently for Daichi and Oikawa to, er, finish up.

Bodyguards are supposed to always know where their protectee is in relationship to everyone else.  It was one of Daichi’s first lessons.  A basic, really.  Awareness was a bodyguard’s currency, and Daichi was currently cashing it in to make out with Oikawa in the back of a limo.

“I—” it’s completely instinctive, involuntary, when Daichi presses his hands against Oikawa’s shoulders, pushing him away.  He can feel himself hard in his jeans, there’s saliva cooling on his neck, and Oikawa’s is pouting, chest heaving with each new breath.

“I have to go,” Daichi lunges across the back seat to reach the door, ignoring Oikawa’s protests, and the tight grip around his forearm.

When he wrests open the car door, Daichi finds himself outside a dingy convenience store.  He recognizes it – it’s only a few blocks down from his apartment.  The driver must have stopped to get something to eat, or maybe he got the address wrong in the hectic aftermath of Daichi and Oikawa’s escape from the club.  There’s no one around; the dingy street lamps and the fluorescent glow from the convenience store are the only things illuminating the otherwise abandoned street.

Oikawa is stumbling out of the limo, and he grips Daichi’s shoulder to steady himself, “What the fuck, Daichi?”

Daichi blinks, “I’m sorry, I just—”

“Just got overwhelmed with the experience of making out with a famous movie star slash model slash future pop star in the back of his limo,” Oikawa grins, bringing a hand to his chest and pretending to swoon, “I know I’m a lot to handle.”

“No.  Well, yes.  But no,” Daichi pulls back, and as soon as he does Oikawa’s countenance switches from amused to concerned.

“Was that,” Oikawa swallows hard, taking a tentative step toward Daichi, “I’m sorry if that wasn’t alright, I just thought…” he trails off, eyes focusing on Daichi’s lips, which are still red and swollen from kissing.

“I was the one who kissed you in the first place, Oikawa,” Daichi’s voice is soft, “But I wasn’t thinking, it’s not…”

He’s trying to explain why it’s wrong, why the kiss was a mistake, but he’s coming up short.  Is there a non-fraternization clause in his contract?  Probably, Daichi thinks, but given Oikawa’s penchant for flouting the rules, that would make for a pretty flimsy argument.

The real problem here is how _right_ it felt, to finally kiss Oikawa, to just let himself go and forget for a moment about the obligations and the dangers.  Looking down at where Oikawa’s hand is still hesitantly extended toward him, the only thing that seems to be wrong to Daichi is the fact that tomorrow the two of them will have to return to their everyday professional relationship.  At the moment, the idea of it seems completely impossible.  

A proper bodyguard should exist on the fringes of their protectee’s life – that’s what Daichi was always taught to believe.  But now that Daichi knows he has permission to touch Oikawa like he’s always wanted to, how could he ever go back?

“I need to go,” he says, finally, voice thin but steady.

“Alright, yeah,” Oikawa’s tone is patient, “I’ll walk you back to your place.”

Daichi shakes his head, taking a step back, “No, I need to _go._  I need to—”

“Hey, wait,” as soon as Daichi takes another step back, Oikawa steps forward, until he’s standing right in front of the streetlamp, suddenly just a dark silhouette against the ultramarine of near dawn.  He seems to get what Daichi is hinting at, because his lip is quivering ever-so-slightly, and it’s only because he can barely see the rest of Oikawa’s face that Daichi manages to steel himself and say,

“I quit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oikawa doesn't say "I love you" he says "what the hell daichi" and I think that's beautiful


	4. never look back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow that took a while  
> thank you for reading and thank you for the kind comments.   
> if i didn't reply to you just know that i did read it and probably shed a tear _(:3」∠)_

It is five o’clock in the morning and Kunimi Akira has had it up to here.   _Here_ being the observation deck of the Tokyo Tower, where he is currently bundled and shivering in the chilly early morning air.  Kunimi is pretty sure that if he piled all of his complaints, annoyances, and little stresses up, one on top of the other, the stack would certainly reach the very tip of the Tokyo Tower -- (if he started at the molten core of the Earth’s center, that is.)

This time (for once), it isn’t Oikawa occupying the top slot of Kunimi’s shit list.  Today, that honor belongs to Kindaichi Yuutaro, who currently looks like he’s trying to melt into the ground beneath his feet through the power of sheer will.  So far, it doesn’t appear to be working.

“Okay, so,” his face is red with shame, “It turns out the shoot _isn’t_ at Tokyo Tower, it’s at the Skytree.  So, that’s my bad… sorry.”

Kunimi must be going soft, because the pronounced pout on Kindaichi’s face is keeping him from feeling too mad about the mix-up.  (That, and the fact that Kindaichi had earlier received a supreme tongue-lashing from Oikawa.)

“Honest mistake,” Kunimi mutters, gathering up his supplies.  Kindaichi might be a Tokyo transplant, but he’s apparently still a country boy at heart, “How’s our fearless leader?”

“Still mad,” Kindaichi mumbles, “He’s even more on edge than usual.”

“I noticed.  I’ll ride with Oikawa over to the Skytree, save yourself the awkwardness.”

Kindaichi nods gratefully and heads off to make a phone call.  Kunimi finishes packing his things and heads down to meet Oikawa for what he is sure will be an unpleasant car ride.

It’s been a week, maybe a bit more, since Oikawa’s bad mood first descended.  It had begun after COWL’s mini-album launch party, the one where Oikawa had punched some foreigner -- or, at least, attempted to.  His PR rep had done a pretty phenomenal job at keeping the incident quiet in the press, but no number of NDAs can ever fully contain a scandal, least of all a drunken bar brawl.

Perhaps the incident itself is what’s bothering Oikawa; maybe he’s embarrassed about lashing out like that, although Kunimi doesn’t really think that’s it.  ‘Lashing out in anger’ might as well be one of Oikawa’s core personality traits.

There has to be something else.

“Did you and Sawamura-san break up?”

“I—wh— _excuse_ me?”

They’re in the back of the sedan and Oikawa, in the middle of a long drag of water, nearly does a spit take.  Certainly, no one has ever accused Kunimi of beating around the bush.

“We weren’t dating!” Oikawa hisses.

Kunimi notes the use of the past tense, “But something did happen between you two.  He hasn’t been around lately.”

“He’s allowed a holiday, isn’t he?”

Kunimi shrugs, “Doesn’t seem like the type.”

The car is moving slowly through the morning traffic, and Kunimi looks out the window, impassive as always, “You scared him away, didn’t you?”

“Did not,” Oikawa says quickly, “Maybe _you_ scared him away.  Ever think about that, huh?”

“So, you’re saying _something_ scared him away?”

“Tch,” Oikawa turns his head away from Kunimi, face hot with embarrassment, “You think you’re so fucking clever, don’t you?”

“That’s true.”

A beat of silence, “Why do you even care?”

 _Because you’re my friend, you freaking moron_ , is what Kunimi wants to say.  It hurts to see Oikawa in such a sour mood, and to call this particular funk of his a ‘sour mood’ would be a severe understatement.  The sheer misery Oikawa radiates is unprecedented.

It’s only be a year and some change since Kunimi started working for Oikawa, and his affection for the eccentric actor might be his worst-kept secret.  There’s something special about Oikawa, the way he seems able to worm his way into the lives of those around him, always to their betterment.  Kunimi had never taken himself or what he did seriously before he started working for Oikawa, and now that had all changed.   It was something he was incredibly grateful to Oikawa for (although he would fucking die before admitting that out loud.)

“Have you talked to Iwaizumi-san about it?” Kunimi asks.

This is apparently a sore subject, because Oikawa moans dejectedly, leaning his cheek against the car window and letting his breath fog up the glass, “He’s out of town, visiting his parents or whatever.  I haven’t talked to him for a while.”

“Phones do exist, you know.”

At this, Oikawa just shoots Kunimi a withering gaze, saying nothing.

Even with his surlier-than-usual attitude, Oikawa manages to keep up appearances on set, just as he has been doing for the past week or so.  Kunimi is about to chalk the whole thing up to a lover’s spat, or maybe just Oikawa being Oikawa.

Except there’s a look on Oikawa’s face as Kunimi’s takes off his makeup that is so hard to place, so far away and vacant, so different than anything Kunimi has ever seen from his usually excitable boss.

“Hey,” Kunimi nudges up against Kindaichi as they’re leaving the set, watching Oikawa say his goodbyes to the photographer, “Do you mind if we have someone else join us for movie night tonight?”

 

 

Kindaichi’s flat is pristine.  This isn’t the first time Kunimi has seen it, but he’s still a bit floored every time, seeing just how spic and span everything is.  Kunimi is pretty sure his own kitchen hasn’t seen a good scrub down since the Meiji era.

“Aw, I thought we were watching the original _Star Trek_ movies!” Oikawa is whining over the movie selection, getting even more huffy when he learns that Kindaichi had no idea there even were ‘original’ _Star Trek_ movies to be watched.

“Whatever.  Chris Pine is hot, so I’ll forgive you this time.”

Kindaichi and Kunimi have been getting together for monthly movie nights for as long as they’ve both been working for Oikawa.  Somewhere in the middle of the second movie, the night usually devolves into complaining about work, or recanting any particularly outlandish stories.  Kunimi sometimes talks about his other clients, none of whom he does as much work for as he does for Oikawa.  Whatever shitty action movie Kindaichi has chosen – Kunimi, ironically not much of a movie buff despite working for such a popular actor, always defers to him – will play in the background as they drink and talk and drink and eventually drag themselves to Kindaichi’s bedroom to fall asleep face-down on the bedspread.

This might be Oikawa’s inaugural movie night, but he gets the gist of it pretty quickly.

“And then he says – man, I could watch an entire movie of just Chris Pine getting beat up, am I right? – anyway, _then_ he says…”

Oikawa, in between periodic distractions and sips of his beer, is telling Kindaichi about a rude set director he worked with a few days earlier.  Kindaichi is too polite and bewildered to inform Oikawa that he already knows this story because he was there the whole time.

Kunimi, however, is not too polite, “We already know everything about your work life.  Tell us what’s wrong with Sawamura-san.”

Oikawa must be getting tipsy, because he only sighs rather than snapping some remark at Kunimi, “I don’t know.  I mean I do know… but I don’t.”

“Sounds… difficult,” Kindaichi says, looking a bit shifty-eyed.

Kunimi narrows his eyes, “Hey, what do you know that we don’t?”

“Huh?” Kindaichi squeaks.

“Yeah, what do _you_ know?” Oikawa asks, prodding Kindaichi’s chest with a slender finger.

“Well,” Kindaichi rubs the back of his neck, “We… I was getting some paperwork out of the way yesterday and I saw Sawamura-san’s resignation letter.  I’m sorry, Oikawa.”

“Sawamura… quit?” Kunimi blinks rapidly.  This, out of all the possible reasons why Oikawa and Sawamura might have been fighting, seemed to Kunimi the least possible explanation.  But from the look on Kindaichi’s face and the way Oikawa visibly stiffens, knuckles white around his drink, it’s clearly the correct one.

“Well, there you have it,” he says tersely.

“Have you two talked since then?”

“No,” Oikawa’s voice is hoarse, and he takes a long swig of his beer, “He ran off right after he quit, which was pretty sudden in the first place, so.  No, we haven’t talked.”

Besides just being a good bit of occasional gossip for the celebrity magazines and SNS, Oikawa and Sawamura’s relationship had always been a hot topic among Oikawa’s staff.  Anyone with two eyes and more than two braincells to rub together could tell that their relationship was far from the norm for an actor and his bodyguard.  Some of Oikawa’s other close protection staff had speculated that Sawamura might have to get another job soon, to avoid breaking the no-fraternization clause.  But that possibility seemed far different from Sawamura initiating a full split, professionally and personally.  The pain of the situation is plain on Oikawa’s face.

Maybe that’s why Kunimi feels the strange urge to be kind rather than sarcastic, maybe for the first time in his life.  He sighs, taking a sip of his own beer, and cocks his head to the side, looking at Oikawa earnestly.

“Why don’t you start at the beginning?”

 

+

 

Was Sendai always so quiet?

Daichi gets off the train and swears that it’s so quiet he can hear his own heartbeat, each and every pump of blood that is, for some godforsaken reason, keeping him alive.  Every ambient noise suddenly stands out to Daichi, as loud as a packed amphitheater or a red carpet full of screaming fans.

At home, Daichi’s parents don’t ask a lot of questions about the reason for his visit, or even about his job.  They just seem happy to have him there, and the simple pleasure of being in his childhood home, free of the veneer of adult life and responsibility, nearly brings Daichi to tears.

For a few days he lounges at home, takes walks around the neighborhood.  He contacts Ukai, asking for recommendations for a new personal bodyguard for Oikawa, voice thick.  He has lunch with Asahi, who never asks questions and has the kind of comforting smile that makes Daichi forget what was even bothering him in the first place.

Well, nearly.  On his fourth day home, Daichi gets a text from Suga: _asahi said u were home!! u bastard, im out of town but tell me next time so we can all hang out!!!!!!_

As much as Daichi would love to see Suga, he knows it would have been impossible in his current state.  One look at him and Sugawara would have known exactly what was wrong with him.  Daichi imagines he looks and sounds just like he did when he and Suga had broken up: beat up, tired, lovesick to hell and back.

But he and Oikawa had never even dated; the only thing that actually ended when Daichi quit was their work relationship.  And with the end of that work relationship, there should have been the possibility of a new, personal relationship… right?  

Except Daichi had gone deathly silent after quitting, waiting for some kind of response from Oikawa, some indication of where they were supposed to go from there.  And Oikawa, usually always ready to fight, to argue his point, to _win_ – he had gone silent as well.  Eventually, almost simultaneously, the two of them had turned from each other, going their separate ways.

Even now, Daichi isn’t sure what Oikawa actually felt for him, if he felt anything at all beyond the desire for a quick backseat makeout session.  Daichi feels like a fool when he goes to bed with hot tears prickling at his eyelids, mourning a relationship that never even happened.

(He makes a mental note, a bit of advice to pass on to other bodyguards: _first rule - don’t fall in love with your protectee._ )

A few weeks after leaving Tokyo, Daichi takes a day-trip to the Sendai City Gymnasium.  There’s a weekend camp for the best and brightest Miyagi volleyball players, and his old kouhai Nishinoya is supposed to be there, teaching a libero workshop.

He gets the time wrong, though – a testament to his hectic state of mind, perhaps – and by the time Daichi gets there the athletes are leaving, and the gym is mostly empty, save for a few university students practicing.

And, further back in the gym, a familiar figure.

“Funny seeing you here,” Daichi says warmly, approaching a trio of players that includes Iwaizumi.  He whips his head over to look at Daichi instantly, and the other two men – both of them ridiculously tall, one with bushy black hair, the other with strawberry blond locks – raise their eyebrows at each other.

“Daichi,” Iwaizumi says, voice steady as always.  There’s no indication in his body language as to whether he’s heard from Oikawa about Daichi quitting, and so Daichi finds himself unsure of how to continue the conversation, even though he was the one who initiated it.

Luckily (or, rather, unluckily), Iwaizumi’s friends are happy to fill in the blanks.

“Oh, is this the infamous Dai-chan?” the shorter of the two men says, approaching Daichi with a leer, “We’re old friends of Oikawa’s.  I’m Hanamaki, this loser is Matsukawa.”  Matsukawa raises a lazy hand in greeting.

“Nice to meet you!” Daichi racks his brain to think if Oikawa has every referenced the pair, “Oikawa has told me—”

“Absolutely fuckin’ nothing about us,” Hanamaki says, feigning insult, “He’s so busy being famous!”

“You could just visit once in a while, you know,” Iwaizumi says.

Matsukawa laughs, “It’s fine.  Besides, Sawamura, we’ve heard plenty about you.”

“Thats…” Daichi furrows his brow, trying to figure out if that’s a good thing or not.

Iwaizumi, always to the rescue, slings an arm around Daichi’s shoulder, steering the two of them away from the court, “Oi, let the man live.  Sawamura, let’s chat, the two of you shoo.”  Hanamaki and Matsukawa just snicker, hurrying away toward the vending machines.

Their volleyball sits abandoned at the edge of the court, so Daichi walks over and picks it up, spinning it in his hand, watching the yellow, white, and blue kaleidoscope in his palms.  He flicks his wrist, tossing the ball up, reaches and swings with his right arm—

And watches the ball go sailing right into the net.

“A bit rusty, huh?”

“A bit,” Daichi agrees.

Iwaizumi laughs, adjusting the net a bit, and makes a motion for Daichi to toss him the ball, which he does.  When Iwaizumi mirrors Daichi’s earlier movements – heading to the edge of the court, tossing the ball up, arching his arm toward it when it reaches its apex.  Daichi is mesmerized at how absent-minded it is, like Iwaizumi could do it in his sleep.  The ball sails over the net and lands in the back-right corner of the other side of the court.

“Go ahead and make me look like shit, why don’t you,” Daichi laughs, clapping Iwaizumi on the shoulder.

Iwaizumi gives him a gentle smile, “I’m actually in town recruiting middle school players for my high school.  They just asked if I’d coach the boys’ volleyball team.”

“That’s great!  You’ll be fantastic at that!”

A shrug, “I’m… I’m happy about it.  Don’t tell Oikawa, by the way.  I don’t want him to get his hopes all up before I actually see how I do at it.”

The way Iwaizumi talks reminds Daichi of something Oikawa had said – _Not yet.  I’ll call him later._  That was back when Oikawa had found out he didn’t get the part in _The Last Kingdom_ , and it had surprised Daichi.  Shouldn’t you want to call your best friend when you get sad news?  Or when you get good news?

“You and Oikawa are… and odd pair.”

To Daichi’s surprise, Iwaizumi laughs loudly, clutching his stomach, “You can say that again.  He’s a fuckin’ pain in my ass, for one,” he continues talking as he heads to the other side of the court to retrieve the ball, “I remember once in middle school he hurt his knee, and the coach gave him this really pitying look, and Oikawa was so pissed off.  He hates that, you know, and I’m the same way, so I get it.  Sometimes you just need a friend who isn’t gonna give you that shit.”

“I get that.  I think I understand, anyway.”

Iwaizumi serves the ball again, back toward Daichi, who lunges forward at the last second to receive it.  This is the one aspect of his volleyball playing that hasn’t rusted, that probably couldn’t rust even if he wanted it too.  The ball makes a satisfying sound as it bounces off his arms, landing exactly on top of the spot where the setter would be standing.

“Not bad,” Iwaizumi whistles lowly, “You’re the same as you were in school.”

“Muscle memory,” Daichi says, before Iwaizumi’s words fully sink in, “Hold on—”

“Don’t feel bad about forgetting me,” Iwaizumi grins, “I quit volleyball after my first year of high school.  It felt wrong without Oikawa there.”

“When did you…?”

“Recognize you?  Not at first, actually.  But I was watching some old videos a couple months ago, when I was back in town for a friend’s birthday,” Iwaizumi grabs the volleyball and spins it in his hands, “There was a pretty good Aoba Johsai and Karasuno match after I quit, maybe in your third year?”

Iwaizumi’s voice is steady and casual, but it only makes panic settle hot and acidic in Daichi’s throat, “Look, I didn’t say anything because— I thought it was weird of me, to remember… what I’m trying to say is Oikawa was so good back in middle school—”

“Hey, hey,” Iwaizumi cocks an eyebrow, “I didn’t realize you remembered him.”

 _Fuck,_ Daichi thinks.  Now he’s done it.  Might as well fully commit, “Of course I do.  He was incredible.”

“Well, you’re not wrong.  Did you tell him?  I’m sure he’d get a kick out of it.”

“No,” Daichi swallows hard.   _And now I probably never will_ , he thinks.

And then, “I left, actually.  I’m not sure if… if Oikawa told you but, I quit.”  For some reason, saying those words – _I quit_ – to Iwaizumi feels harder than when he said them to Oikawa.  It’s like repeating them gives them more power, makes it all the more real.

“He didn’t, actually,” Iwaizumi says, after a thoughtful pause, “Although, I guess he didn’t need to.  I could tell something was wrong.”

“Is he—” Daichi’s throat catches around the words, and he has to try again to say, “How is he?  Have you spoken to him?”

But Iwaizumi just shakes his head.  The look on Daichi’s face must be aggressively miserable, because Iwaizumi makes an aborted movement, like he’s going to bring Daichi in for a side hug, but then thinks better of it.  Instead, he rests a hand gentle and firm on the other man’s shoulder.  Suddenly, Daichi feels overcome with how grateful he is to know Iwaizumi, how grateful he is that their paths crossed (again, apparently.)

But his friendship with Iwaizumi is just another reminder of Oikawa’s impact, the fingerprints he’s left all over Daichi’s life, the differences large and small that are increasingly difficult to ignore.  It’s Daichi’s rearranged social schedule, all the new useless trivia rattling around in his brain that he’s heard Oikawa repeat, the way his new suit from the movie premiere still smells like cigarette smoke.  It’s the way he always looks for Oikawa first when he enters a crowded room, the palpable calm that washes over him when Oikawa shares with him that rare, genuine smile of his, the involuntary squeeze in his chest when the two of them share those small, private moments in the midst of so much chaos and commotion.

Above all, Daichi realizes with a start, it’s the way he’s unconsciously made room for Oikawa in his heart, front and center.

“Just so you know, I’m not gonna know what to do if you start crying.”

“I’m— I’m not—” Daichi protests, before realizing that his eyes are in fact swimming with tears.  Damn, he thinks.  Betrayed by his own tear ducts.

“Hey,” Iwaizumi’s voice is soft, “Oikawa may be a Grade A moron, but he cares about you a lot.  I know that, for a fact.  So, maybe you’re not supposed to be his bodyguard.  But you’re supposed to be _something_ to him.  That’s just the truth.”

Daichi sniffs, feeling sheepish, “I think you’re probably better at comforting people than you let on, Iwaizumi.”

“Yeah, whatever.  Don’t go spreading that shit around.”

“No guarantees!”

The next day, Daichi gets up early and takes the first train back to Tokyo.

 

+

 

 **temi @ AAAHHH** @oiqwqs  
UM…………………

 **temi @ AAAHHH** @oiqwqs  
Y’ALL ARE SEEING THIS RIGHT

 **mic** **∠** **(** **ᐛ** **」** **∠** **)** **＿** @micccrantz  
@oiqwqs dude. DUDE.

 **mic** **∠** **(** **ᐛ** **」** **∠** **)** **＿** @micccrantz  
IT’S HAPPENING IT’S REALLY FCKING HAPPENING

 **♡** **ミカ** **♡** @bluesky299  
@micccrantz I am conflicted. But also screaming.

 **temi @ AAAHHH** @oiqwqs  
@bluesky299 @micccrantz SO MUCH SCREAMING but also is oikawa okay and also it’s so gross how invasive this whole thing is but..

 **mic** **∠** **(** **ᐛ** **」** **∠** **)** **＿** @micccrantz  
@oiqwqs @bluesky299 same but also i love this

 **♡** **ミカ** **♡** @bluesky299  
@micccrantz @oiqwqs Same D:

 **temi @ AAAHHH** @oiqwqs  
@bluesky299 @micccrantz SAME

 **“you are my blossom”** @toorruupdates  
BIG update coming up RE: the Daichi/Oikawa rumors, hold tight.

 **“you are my blossom”** @tooruupdates  
ARTICLE: Anonymous source reveals tryst between Oikawa Tooru and personal bodyguard (PICS) [LINK]

 

+

 

Daichi’s number is still saved in the ‘favorites’ on Oikawa’s phone, which makes calling him an exceedingly simple task.  Only two touches on his phone, even with shaking hands, and the line is ringing, a kind of hollow, dreadful sound in Oikawa’s ears.

No one has ever accused Oikawa of being non-confrontational.  Indeed, it’s more likely that that in the course of his life, Oikawa has gotten into more than his fair share of scuffles and arguments.  He’s petty and passive aggressive, but also just downright _aggressive_.  How else, Oikawa wonders, could he have survived in such a cutthroat industry?  His teeth are almost permanently bared.

And so it takes even less effort for Oikawa to mentally justify the phone call to Daichi, made only seconds after reading and then re-reading the article about their so-called ‘tryst.’

It was Matsukawa who had actually forwarded the article to Oikawa, because lord knows that boy spends way too much time online, and Oikawa had nearly blacked out at the sight of the grainy photos of him and Daichi outside that convenience store, the poor lighting casting shadows across both their faces.  One shot, a closeup of Oikawa, is particularly damning: his shirt is completely undone, his lips are obviously red and kiss-swollen, and there’s a pretty noticeable bulge in his pants.  The details in the article are scarce, but they’re not wrong.  According to an ‘anonymous source’ Oikawa and Daichi had been getting friendly at the club, before escaping after an altercation.  After hooking up in the back of the limo, they pulled over and parted under ‘mysterious circumstances.’

“... Oikawa?”

Daichi finally answers, voice tinny and far-away.  Oikawa’s throat tightens, finally hearing his voice after nearly three weeks apart.  Suddenly, he’s not sure what to say.   _I miss you_ , maybe.  Or, _why did you leave?_

Instead, Oikawa says, “Was it worth it?”

“I’m sorry?” There’s some static in the back on Daichi’s end, like he’s in a place with bad service, “Oikawa, did something happen?  Are you alright?”

Oikawa scoffs, “Don’t pretend like you’re worried about me.”

“I am,” Daichi says, voice tight.  And then, more emphatically, “I am.”

“If you were really worried, you’d be here.”

Silence, like Oikawa’s struck a nerve.

Oikawa tries to remember why he called in the first place.  The article.  He’s not pressed about it; this is far from the first article written about him, and certainly not the most damning.  But, still, he needs to know, “Did you talk to reporters about… that night?  What we did?”

The implication is clear, and Daichi answers immediately, “No!  No, Oikawa, I wouldn’t, you know that.”

“I thought I knew what you would and wouldn’t do,” Oikawa bites, “Now I’m not so sure.  You know, I knew you had to have _some_ kind of agenda, I said so right from the beginning.  Are you happy now?  You get your fifteen minutes of fame?”

“Oikawa—”

“Soon you’ll be back to being nobody, so I hope it was worth it.”

He’s being cruel.  Oikawa knows this, and yet he can’t his mouth from running, has to physically restrain himself from saying more, from digging the hole even deeper.

“I knew you had to have some kind of agenda,” he repeats, speaking so rapidly that Daichi has trouble keeping up, “Everyone always does, even if I thought you were different you’re not, you’re the same as all the rest of them.  Well, I hope this was fun for you, it was for me when I thought you were a decent guy—”

“Oikawa!” Daichi interrupts, to no avail.  Oikawa continues rambling, voice getting louder and louder as he goes on, rising to a nearly hysterical yell.

Daichi tries again, taking a deep breath, saying softly, “Tooru.”

Oikawa stops instantly, mid-thought, mid-sentence, mid-word.  Daichi lets the silence hang between them for a moment.

“Look,” he sighs, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, honestly.  But I would never talk to the press, not about you or anything else.  Especially not about our personal business.”

Oikawa nods duly, though he knows Daichi can’t see him.  “Okay,” he says hoarsely.  He should apologize, but the words aren’t coming.  He’s still too keyed up, too incensed and mildly ashamed and feeling bittersweet about the fact that it took a hectic phone argument for Daichi to finally, _finally_ call Oikawa by his given name. All those months ago when Oikawa had given him permission, and this would be the time Daichi finally broke through the veneer of professionalism: on the phone, in the middle of a nonsensical argument.

It’s too much all at once.  Too much certainly when combined with the fact that Oikawa still misses Daichi terribly, misses him like a limb that’s been cut off.  It’s embarrassing, really.

“Tooru, I’m on my wa—” Daichi starts, voice grainy with the poor connection.  He keeps cutting out, and Oikawa can only catch a few words here and there.  In the background, Oikawa hears an announcer’s voice, though it’s too muffled to know what’s being announced.  Daichi curses under his breath, and the line goes dead.

It’s early morning by the time Oikawa finally drags himself to bed.  He waits for the relief and forgiveness and satisfaction to come, but it never does.

 

+

 

 **Kuroo:** just so u know… youll owe me big  
**Daichi:** I mean, okay.  I’m not really sure why though  
**Kuroo:** bc i decided  
**Kuroo:** i mean but for real its not a big deal  
**Kuroo:** ill do anything if it gets oikawa to stop pouting  
**Kuroo:** and for you to stop acting like a brooding man on a mission  
**Daichi:** I am NOT brooding  
**Kuroo:** but you ARE on a mission  
**Daichi:** I guess?  
**Kuroo:** can we name the mission. its not official until we name it  
**Kuroo:** how about…... . Operation Forbidden Love  
**Kuroo:** nah thats gay  
**Kuroo:** well ofc itll be gay but w/e  
**Kuroo:** OPERATION ROMEO & JULIET  
**Kuroo:** nah its not that dramatic. u two are just obtuse.  
**Kuroo:** this is clearly more of a much ado about nothin situation  
**Kuroo:**  and ur boner is what tricked you into confessing your love  
**Daichi:** Kuroo I’m hanging up on this conversation.  
**Kuroo:** what you cant hang up on a text convo  
**Kuroo:** daichan dont be like this  
**Kuroo:** ……  
**Kuroo:** dAICHI

 

+

 

Despite his protestations, Kuroo has left the key exactly where he said he would.  Daichi plucks it from the top of the back-door frame, where it’s hidden under an innocuous-looking rock.  Why Kuroo couldn’t just deliver the key in person is beyond Daichi, but it probably has something to do with Kuroo’s unexpected dramatic flair.

Daichi had enlisted Kuroo to swipe the key from the office building manager, and if it’s the right one, it will allow Daichi to unlock the private recording studio where Oikawa is putting the finishing touches on his first album.

It’s almost noon; Daichi compulsively checks his watch, watching the minute hand creep along.  Even the watch, innocuous as it seems, reminds Daichi of how much he misses Oikawa.  It had been a present, to commemorate the end of the _Dark Horse_ promo tour, at the end of which Daichi was running pretty ragged.   _This way you know what time it is, so you can finally get some sleep,_ Oikawa had said, _Also, your old watch was pretty ugly._

Daichi smiles at the memory, at the deliberate but occasionally reluctant way Oikawa seems to take care of everyone around him.  He pays near-rapt attention almost instinctually, and responds in kind.  Just thinking about it makes Daichi’s heart constrict with fondness.

_all systems go!_

The text comes in from Kuroo, and Daichi heads upstairs to the recording studio, waiting around the corner for the small group of sound engineers and producers to file out of the room.  Kuroo follows them, hands bunched in his pockets and his back bowed slightly.  When he catches sight of Daichi coming down the hall, he gives him two thumbs up and an exaggerated wink.  (Daichi pretends not to see him.)

They’ve locked the door behind them, presumably to keep any snooping superfans away from Oikawa.  Which is, of course, what the smuggled key is for.  Daichi takes a deep breath, steels his nerves, and turns the key.

 

 

When Daichi sees Oikawa, for a second he can’t breathe.

The studio is small and humid, separated into a control room filled with various switchboards and equipment that Daichi doesn’t recognize, a main recording booth, and a couple of isolation booths on the far end of the room.  It’s completely empty, save for a familiar figure still in the center of the main recording booth, perched on a stool, toes tapping absentmindedly against the floor while he scrolls through his phone.  Oikawa looks exactly the same as when Daichi left him – well, almost.  Even from the door Daichi can see the dark circles under his eyes, the frizz in his hair, the mismatched socks.  For any ordinary person, these would be minor oddities.  But on Oikawa, who has always prized his presentation, for better or for worse, these aberrations stick out all the more.

Daichi steps into the control room, and Oikawa’s head snaps up, “Oh, are you—”

“Hey,” Daichi says, before he can think better of it, “Long time no see.”

It’s almost comical how quickly Oikawa’s face cycles through emotions, the physical calling cards still familiar as ever to Daichi: the rueful downturn of his eyebrows, the stiffening of his shoulders, the scrunch of his nose.  Throughout, there’s a hint of happiness in his eyes, saucer-wide and shining.  For a brief second, Daichi thinks that maybe Oikawa is just so happy to see him that he’ll forget about the whole mess that came before this, and hear Daichi out face-to-face.

But Oikawa, difficult as ever, is not going down easily.

“You’re not the songwriter,” Oikawa says, standing up and stalking across the live room, “That’s obvious, of course.  I guess this is all part of Kuroo’s plan to get us to talk again, huh?  Well, tell him it’s not happening, I’m done with this, I’m tired Daichi.”

“It was my idea,” Daichi almost laughs, thinking about Kuroo meddling in his and Oikawa’s relationship, all the while pretending he couldn’t care less, “I’m sorry Oikawa, please just talk to me.”

He starts toward the door to the booth, tired of staring at Oikawa through the thick glass separating the live room and the control room, but Oikawa twitches into action like a gazelle leaping away from a lion.  Daichi manages to reach out and touch Oikawa’s wrist, but the former recoils, sprinting across the room to one of the isolation booths.

“Oikawa—”

Once inside the tiny, sound-proof booth, Oikawa slams the door and turns the lock with a triumphant look on his face.  Daichi can’t hear him, but he can read his lips well enough to see him say _Take that, Dai-chan!_

“Oikawa… you’re an idiot,” Daichi rubs his hand down his face, before raising his voice, “You’ll have to come out of there eventually!”

As usual, Oikawa is not going to admit defeat due to a silly thing like logic.   _I could stay in here all day!_ Daichi sees him say.

He shrugs, “We’ll see.”

 

+

 

Daichi proves to be as indefatigable as Oikawa remembered.

“The guys will be back any minute now!” Oikawa yells, just loud enough that Daichi can hear him through the thick glass, “The music guys!”

In response, Daichi holds his phone up so that Oikawa can read it.  It’s a text message from Kuroo: _i treated these guys to drinks & now theyre sloshed lmao. youve got time_

Oikawa’s head makes a dull _thud_ when he hits it against the glass.

Nothing Oikawa does seems to deter Daichi.  When he retreats further into the booth, ignoring Daichi completely, Daichi heads back into the control room, using the microphone and booth speakers to talk to him.  When Oikawa mutes the iso booth speakers, Daichi finds a pen and pad, writing messages in large letters and holding the notebook up to the glass so Oikawa can read it.   _PLEASE COME OUT_ and _I’M SORRY_ and _CAN WE TALK?_

Each time, Oikawa just crosses his arms tighter and turns his nose up.  Eventually he sits down on the floor of the booth, back propped against the door, so he can’t even see Daichi.

But Daichi just sits opposite him, propped up against the other side of the door.  He’s tapping a rhythm against the door, a pattern Oikawa can faintly make out.  For a second he thinks that Daichi is tapping in Morse code, but the more he listens, the more he’s sure it’s just nonsensical tapping.  Daichi doesn’t seem like the type of person to sit down and memorize Kana code, or Morse code, or anything like that.  Besides, he doesn’t even know that Oikawa knows Morse code, self-taught from hours upon hours of boredom on set.

It strikes Oikawa, suddenly, that he really is desperate for any bit of communication from Daichi.  He’s searching for a message in everything, even the absent-minded tapping of Daichi’s fingers against the door.  He’s been searching for signs in everything around him lately – trying to read between the lines of the meddling texts Kuroo sends him, checking his email obsessively to see if Daichi has decided to come back, refreshing Twitter over and over and over.

The songwriters give him a slew of lyrics to look over and edit or approve, and every single word reminds him, somehow, of Daichi.

That might have been when it first hit him, the realization that without even trying to, he had fallen in love with Daichi.  He had started looking for him in every crowded room, waiting for him around every corner.

 _What kind of moron falls in love with their own bodyguard?_ Oikawa wonders.  He’s so far out of his depth that he’s almost drowning.

Oikawa leans his head against the door and can almost hear Daichi’s voice.  As it stands, there’s only a few inches of wood separating them, but if Daichi doesn’t feel the same… well, then they might as well be on completely different continents.

_Tap… tap… tap…_

“I’m _trying_ to have an emotional crisis here!” Oikawa snaps, before remembering that Daichi can’t hear him.  There’s an incessant tapping coming, now, from further up on the door.  As Oikawa listens, it migrates to the window, the thick pane of glass changing the pitch of the tapping.

“Can you—!” Oikawa stands up, pauses in the middle of his thought.  He has to take a moment to right himself, leaning slightly against the wall, fixing his eyes firmly on the corner of the booth window, wondering how long he can stare at it, avoiding looking at Daichi, avoiding what he might find when he does eventually look up. What do you even do, even say to someone when you’ve both been horrible, when you’ve both filled in the gaps of silence with assumptions and cruel words?  Who is the first to break the silence?

Daichi, it turns out, is the first.  When Oikawa looks up, the other man is holding a notebook, writing something on it with a large black marker he’s somehow managed to unearth.  His tongue is between his teeth, eyebrows furrowed in concentration.  After a moment he caps the pen, looks up to the ceiling, as if asking for some kind of divine interference, and flips the notebook over so Oikawa can read it.

**_I ~~MISS~~ LOVE YOU_ **

It takes Oikawa only a millisecond to read the sign, and once he does he leaps to open the door and flings himself into Daichi’s arms.  He’s pretty sure he’s never moved faster before in his entire life.

Daichi drops the notebook, barely flinching when Oikawa collides with him, just wraps his arms around the taller boy’s waist and squeezes, his grip so tight Oikawa thinks he might never actually let go.

It might be five minutes or five hours later, but Oikawa finally breaks the silence, speaking into the crook of Daichi’s neck, “... So, you’re saying you didn’t miss me.”

“What?  Of course I did.”

“But you crossed out ‘miss,’ so.”

“Idiot,” Daichi knocks his head against Oikawa’s, “I was _going_ to say ‘I miss you,’ but I thought, you know.  I’d just, like, go for it instead.  Just put all my cards on the table, so to speak.”

Oikawa laughs under his breath, “You know, you could have just turned to a new page in the notebook.”

At this, Daichi finally pulls away, using his newly-freed hand to flick Oikawa’s nose, “I didn’t ask for a critique of my love confession, alright?”

Oikawa grins, “Alright.”

“A love confession that, by the way, I’m feeling the increasing urge to rescind,” Daichi says, folding his arms.  Face red, he turns away from Oikawa.

“Alright,” Oikawa repeats, dumb grin still plastered on his face.  He reaches out to grab Daichi’s face with both hands, turning it towards him, thumbs tracing softly across Daichi’s cheekbones, watching deep brown eyes soften.

“You know, I’ve laid my heart on the line here,” Daichi says, “The least you could do is respond to my confession.”  He’s pouting, but there’s no bite to his words.

In response, Oikawa leans down to kiss him.  It’s much different than their first kiss - they’re both sober for one, and the pace is gentle and slow, like they have all the time in the world.  Which, Oikawa guesses, they kind of do.  Daichi’s lips are plush and inviting beneath his, and the way hereaches out to grip at the front of Oikawa’s shirt only makes it harder to pull away, both of them grinning from ear-to-ear.

Oikawa wants nothing more than to give Daichi a proper response, a certain three-word-phrase response.  But the words stick in his throat, feeling heavy with the weight of obligations that come along with loving a celebrity.  Oikawa feels both guilty for wanting to say the words and guilty for not saying them.

So, instead, he exhales sharply, jabbing his thumb back toward the isolation booth, “You know, that thing is completely soundproof, if we wanna—”

“Oikawa,” Daichi cuts him off.

“I’m just saying!”

Daichi somehow manages to look both exasperated and affectionate when he sighs, reaching out to grab Oikawa’s hand, lacing their fingers together.

“Let’s just go home.”

 

+

 

Daichi takes Oikawa back to his apartment with the intention of actually _talking_ , but that, of course, doesn’t happen.  For once in his life, Oikawa is conspicuously quiet, just resting his head on Daichi’s shoulder during the car ride, looking around the apartment with a kind of blankness, responding to Daichi’s questions with just a grunt or a one-word answer.  Daichi isn’t necessarily worried or upset about it.  Just anxious.  Very, very anxious, like a person with a fear of heights waiting at the highest point of a rollercoaster, wondering if the drop will be just as terrifying as they had always feared or if it will be exhilarating.

“Do you wanna order something to eat?” Daichi finally asks, rifling through the pile of takeout menus on his kitchen counter, “I tried this new place the other day, it was— oh!”

Daichi turns around to find himself nose-to-nose with Oikawa, who is grinning down at him predatorily, bracing his arms on the kitchen counter, on either side of Daichi.

“... What are you doing?”

“I’m seducing you!” Oikawa looks offended, “We have to get rid of all this sexual tension!”

Daichi cocks an eyebrow, “There’s sexual tension?” He’s playing dumb.  Mostly.

“Oh Dai-chan.  You are as oblivious as you are handsome.  Which is to say, extremely oblivious.”

“Oddly flattering of you to say so.  Remember when you used to say I was boring?”

Oikawa laughs, “C’mon you’re a little boring.  But it’s good.  You’re like… a classic.  Like, whiskey, or something else kind of manly but simple.”

Daichi laughs, and pretends not to notice Oikawa hands sliding up off the kitchen counter to wrap around his waist, “So what kind of drink are you, then?”

It’s a joke, but Oikawa pauses, like he’s seriously considering it, “Probably, like, a peach Bellini.”

Daichi sighs, a bit resigned and a lot fond, “Please just stop talking and kiss me.”

“Happily!” Oikawa plants a peck on Daichi’s lips, “My expert seduction works again!”

He swoops back in for another kiss, and Daichi is just too happy just to have Oikawa back in his sights that he sighs into the kiss, reaching up to tangle one hand in Oikawa’s hair, the other pressing at the small of Tooru’s back.  Oikawa is an unsurprisingly adept kisser, albeit a bit bitey, and he lets out a pleased whine when Daichi returns the favor, nipping at Oikawa’s bottom lip.

“My PR team hates you, by the way,” Oikawa mumbles, pulling back.  He’s still close enough that Daichi can feel his lips move against his own, can trace the slight smile on his face.

“Oh?”

“Yep,” Oikawa pops the ‘p’ sound, “I was pretty scandal-free before you came around.”

Daichi laughs under his breath, tracing patterns with his fingers in the short hairs at the nape of Oikawa’s neck, “I find that pretty hard to believe.”

“It’s true!  But then I see you, and it makes me want to do things like this.”

It’s then that Oikawa pulls away and sinks to his knees in one fell swoop, looking up at Daichi with a look of faux-innocence on his face.  The sight of Oikawa kneeling right in front of him is already increasing Daichi’s heat rate, doubly so when it dawns on him that Oikawa is preparing to give him a blowjob at _right this very minute_ , in the middle of his kitchen, in broad daylight.  It’s been barely a couple hours since they saw each other for the first time in weeks, they haven’t even really _talked_ yet, Oikawa still hasn’t properly responded to Daichi’s confession, there’s a million little details the two of them still have to iron out, and yet—

“Can I?” Oikawa says, looking up at Daichi through thick lashes.  His fingers are already dancing on the seam of Daichi’s pants.

“Yeah,” Daichi breathes, “Yeah.  Yes, please.”

Oikawa takes the blessing and runs with it, making quick business of unzipping Daichi’s jeans and reaching for his cock, half-hard ever since Oikawa had first sunk to his knees.

“Eager _and_ polite,” Oikawa muses, stroking Daichi’s length with soft, delicate touches, “I can get behind that.”

Daichi flushes, not sure if the insinuation was on purpose, but it sends a rush of blood to his crotch regardless.  He doesn’t quite trust himself to say anything, too afraid of the embarrassing noises that might escape from his mouth, so he just grips the edges of the counter with white knuckles, watching Oikawa paw at his hardening cock, looking like a cat who just got the cream.

When Oikawa finally slips his mouth over the head of Daichi’s cock, Daichi can’t help but moan, low and deep from the back of his throat.  This only encourages Oikawa, who bobs down, the head of Daichi’s cock bulging out of his cheek obscenely.

The moment Daichi finally loses his willpower enough to reach out and grasp Oikawa’s soft hair with his hand is the exact moment that the loud ringtone of his phone blares, startling them both. Daichi’s hand twitches, pulling at Oikawa’s hair, and Oikawa whines, pulling off Daichi’s dick with a wet, popping noise.

“Now, of all times?” He says, grinning.

Daichi tips his head back, “That’s Kuroo’s ringtone.”

“A personal ringtone, cute,” Oikawa mumbles, “Well, whatever.  Ignore it.”  His voice is so tempting and husky that for a second Daichi almost listens to him.

But, unfortunately, he knows Kuroo too well.  A second after the ringing dies down, it starts up anew.  Daichi lets out a groan, “If I don’t pick up he’ll just keep calling.  He’s a monster.”

Oikawa’s already popped the head of Daichi’s dick back in his mouth, “If you must!” he says, voice muffled, gesturing to the phone.  It’s becoming clear that Oikawa has no intention of pausing the in-process blowjob, and Daichi hates how that makes his cock throb a bit.

With shaking hands, Daichi snatches his phone, putting it up to his ear, “Make this fast, Kuroo.”

“Sa-wa-mu-ra!” Kuroo says, dragging out the vowels.  Daichi can almost hear the smirk that must be on Kuroo’s face, “Is that any way to speak to the man who helped orchestrate your great romantic success?”  Daichi is beginning to regret having sent a quick _Everything went well!_ text to Kuroo and Bokuto after he and Oikawa made up.

“I’m a bit occupied at the moment,” he says, voice cracking on the last syllable as Oikawa drags his tongue over a particularly sensitive spot on the underside of his shaft.

“Oh, I’m sure,” Kuroo deadpans, “Well, Kou’s gonna be disappointed, you know.  He’s in the car with some beer, all ready to celebrate you and Oikawa’s reunion.  But _luckily_ I had the good sense to come knock on your door to make sure you were home!”

Oikawa bobs his head down Daichi’s length, and Daichi hisses, “Can you get to the fucking point?!”

“Alright, alright!” Kuroo sighs melodramatically, “Imagine my surprise when I hear some indecent noises coming from your window, which has been left open!  I guess I should call off the celebration?”

“ _Kuroo!!_ ”

Oikawa pulls back, eyebrow cocked, “Don’t know how I feel about you calling out some other guy’s name when I’ve got your dick halfway down my throat.”

There’s just too much going on.  Daichi pauses, lets his heart calm down a bit, too keyed up with everything going on.  Then, he hangs up the phone, reluctantly shoos Oikawa away from his painfully hard dick, tucking it back into his pants.

“Go away Kuroo!!” he yells out of the open kitchen window, before slamming it shut.

Oikawa looks properly bemused, standing up and brushing his hands down the front of his thighs, though the bulge in his jeans and the pre-cum glossing his lips is completely obscene.

The Kuroo problem handled, Daichi makes quick work of grasping Oikawa round the middle, marveling at the way his hands fit perfectly in the curves of his waist.  With a grunt, he hoists Oikawa up onto the countertop; Oikawa’s legs wrap around Daichi’s waist instinctively, and he pulls him in for a deep, messy kiss.

“You’re pretty strong, huh?” Oikawa says, so close that Daichi can feel his lips moving as he talks.

“That’s kind of my job,” Daichi says shrugging.

“Now, where were we again?”

 

+

 

It’s late by the time Oikawa and Daichi finally head to bed, Oikawa’s arms curled possessively around Daichi’s waist.  The feeling is warm and familiar and particularly welcome after so many nights of Daichi sleeping alone in his bed.  Maybe that’s why, when he wakes up a few hours after midnight, he knows instantly that Oikawa is not there.  The cold, empty space of the other side of the mattress is too conspicuous by now.

“Sorry I don’t have a fancy balcony like you.”

Daichi finds Oikawa out on the stoop of his apartment, slouching against the outside wall and looking up at the few stars that can be seen through the smog of the city.  He’s holding an unlit cigarette between his fingers.

“I think my landlord will kill me if she finds a cigarette butt out here,” Daichi says, crouching down to sit on the steps leading up to his door.

Oikawa turns and starts toward him, considering the cigarette in his hands, “I don’t actually have a lighter on me.  I was just hoping it would help me think, like, if I’m holding it and pretend to be pensive and dramatic some thought will come to me.

Daichi considers this, “I know I’m supposed to be nice to you since I’m in love with you and everything, but that’s probably the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Shut up!” Oikawa laughs, flicking the unlit cigarette at Daichi and immediately bringing his hand up to cover his face, trying (unsuccessfully) to hide how red and flustered Daichi’s words make him, “Be nice to your new boyfriend.”

“I will be nice, I promise,” Daichi grins, reaching out to pull at Oikawa’s wrist, indicating for Oikawa to sit down next to him on the steps.

Instead, Oikawa deposits himself on Daichi’s lap, wrapping his arms around the other boy’s neck and leaning his head against Daichi’s collar bone.  Daichi huffs, pretending to be burdened, but feeling anything but.

It’s quiet for a while, nothing but the ambient noises of the city and the rustlings of the few wild animals that still inhabit the small patch of forest behind Daichi’s apartment.  It’s comfortably warm out, the death throes of spring before the oppressive heat of summer.

Finally, Oikawa says, “You know I love you, right?”

“I know,” Daichi says.  It’s actually the first time Oikawa’s said it out loud, but Daichi isn’t lying when he says that he already knew.  To most people, Oikawa is a strange enigma, but he’s become easier and easier to read for Daichi, a symptom of both his instincts as a bodyguard and his personal desire to know what makes Oikawa tick.

“Just making sure,” Oikawa mumbles, “Since from now on people will try to say I don’t.  And that I’m just some playboy, and that I’m sleeping with other people, and that you’re not good enough for me since you’re not famous...”  His voice gets smaller and smaller, until his lips are moving wordlessly against the collar of Daichi’s shirt, trying to put all his worries into words.

“It’s okay,” Daichi says, simply, as if these considerations meant nothing to him, “I’ll just love you anyway.”

“Yeah, but—“

“Even though you have no concept of personal space—” Oikawa squawks indignantly, “—and even though you might be the most difficult person alive, and I think you have a kink for making my life a living hell.”

Oikawa laughs, “I’m pretty sure that last one is actually true.”

“Besides,” Daichi continues, “I’m pretty sure I’ve been carrying a torch for you since middle school.”

That finally makes Oikawa pull back, looking at Daichi with a look of unbridled glee, “Excuse me?  I have to know the details about this.  Not that I’m surprised, really, since I’ve always been quite dashing, even as a young lad—“

Daichi pinches Oikawa’s cheek, causing the other man to yelp, “Just for that I’m not going to tell you the story.”

“Not fair,” Oikawa pouts, “You’re being a bad boyfriend.”

“Sure, sure,” Daichi says dismissively, planting a kiss on Oikawa’s forehead, “Well, since I’m not your bodyguard anymore I need a new job.”

“Your new job is to tell me how you’ve been in love with me since middle school.”

“Nice try,” Daichi grins, “I say my new job is just to love you.  And your job is to love me back.”

“Okay,” Oikawa replies, letting a smile spread slow and wide across his face, not bothering to hide the blush reddening his face, “I think I can handle that.”

Eventually they venture back inside, going through the motions of an emerging bedtime ritual.  Oikawa borrows some pajamas, Daichi makes tea, they debate where to go for breakfast.  Oikawa borrows a toothbrush, setting it out proudly next to Daichi’s when he’s done, reveling in the domesticity.  They fall asleep cuddled together, although at a certain point of the night Oikawa will roll over onto his side and steal all the covers.  This will surely be a point of contention between them in the future, Daichi thinks, when he wakes up shivering.

And then, when morning comes, they will (finally, for once) wake up next to each other.

 

+

 

**_Oikawa Tooru: New Music, New Movie, New Man_ **

_We recently caught up with actor, model, and newly-minted pop star Oikawa Tooru ahead of the premiere of his very first music video.  The video, for his single “Until it Breaks,” has been months in the making, and came along with an announcement that Oikawa will be joining labelmates COWL on their upcoming national tour._

_“I’m excited to get on stage and really prove myself as a live performer,” Oikawa said, “It’s a different world than acting but I’m taking what I’ve learned about taking on a role and letting go of my inhibitions and applying it to music.”_

_Ardent fans will agree that Oikawa has never had a problem letting go of his inhibitions, something that has got him into trouble in the past.  After an altercation in a nightclub earlier this year, Oikawa was revealed to have engaged in a tryst with his personal bodyguard Sawamura Daichi._

_The pair have remained mum on their official relationship, but have issued no denials about reports that they have entered into a relationship.  After the news went public, Oikawa’s press representatives confirmed that Sawamura had ended his protection contract with Oikawa. Interestingly, Sawamura is now a member of the close protection team for Bokuto Koutarou and Kuroo Tetsurou, both of COWL. The bodyguard seems to have amassed his own niche following online and among followers of both COWL and Oikawa._

_Fans are curious to see how these interpersonal dynamics will play out during COWL’s upcoming national tour. Many have also speculated that Oikawa will be taking on the leading role in Takeda Ittetsu’s newest film, following up on the critical and commercial success of_ Dark Horse. _If so, his touring and filming schedules are sure to clash._

_Will Oikawa Tooru be able to handle these new challenges?  He sounded optimistic when we talked to him, but was hushed about details._

_“I guess you’ll just have to wait and see!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks again for reading!!!!!!!! i'm very invested in this dumb au so i'll probably write more bc i have no self-control. in the meantime i'm happy that i finally got this all written down!  
> a final important note: [this is kuroo's ringtone](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=evwwWWYD0ZA&ab_channel=That1DerfulBand)


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